The White Dragon
by AaronAlvin
Summary: The boy's mother and father lay dead, and his life was in danger so long as he stayed in Westeros. Holding the infant, Ser Arthur Dayne knew only two things now, he had to keep his promise to Lyanna, and he had to ensure Jon Targaryen one day would sit upon the Iron Throne. AU, R L J (Rated M for Sexual Themes, Blood and Gore, Language, and Violence)
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

* * *

 **Rhaegar I**

There was an eerie quiet that had fallen over the two opposing armies. To Rhaegar it seemed that the air was so thick with tension that he could cut it with a knife.

He could see his men gazing across the trident at the rebels while they waited for the battle to begin. Rhaegar knew it wouldn't be long until the traitor, Robert Baratheon, would lose patients and lead a charge against his line. Raegar knew that Robert lived up to his House's words, 'Ours is the fury'. The prince could recall seeing the legendary rage of the hammer-wielding lord, at the tourney at Harrenhal some drunken hedge knight had slighted the Baratheon. The knight had attempted to steal away a whore who had been resting on his lap, that earned the fool several lost teeth and a bloodied broken nose. He'd returned to his whoring and drinking afterward as if nothing had happened, his rage seemingly bottled up for the next man who might slight him. Robert's fury was aimed squarely at Rhaegar now, and nothing, save the embrace of the Stranger, could stay it.

There were no cheers of battle yet, just the exchange of cold glares between the two forces. Had it not been for the impending battle that was soon to rage, it might have been an agreeable place to make camp for a hunting party or for a day of fishing on the river's banks. Perhaps he could have played his harp as the men feasted on deer and river trout. However, there would be no songs this night, with only a feast for crows. Rhaegar could already picture the trident turning crimson.

Rhaegar Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone, peered into the eyes of his men, and what he saw was nothing short of pure terror. While Rhaegar had been given nearly every abled body man that his father, King Aerys, could spare, he still doubted their victory.

It was no secret that the Targaryen army had yet to prove itself in battle, unlike that of the rebels across the ford. Rhaegar's band of men was mostly made of Sellswords and stable boys with a few knights scattered between them. He had the numbers over Robert, but his foe had experience and a will of iron since they had defeated Jon Connington at the battle of the bells. His men were afraid, they'd all heard the tales of the rebel army's victories and stories of Robert Baratheon. Seeing him atop a black horse shouting to his men around him, Rhaegar couldn't help but think that, thus far, Robert lived up to his legend. Men would speak of Robert's war-hammer, claiming it was as heavy as a mountain and that he swung it with the might of fifty men. Most would shit themselves at the prospect of fighting such a warrior, Rhaegar, however, was eager to be rid of him. The prince hoped that outnumbering Robert Baratheon by ten-thousand bodies would be enough.

The Targaryen prince often heard men saying that he was, perhaps, the greatest warrior his family had ever produced. Men said he could only be rivaled in Westeros by the likes of Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan Selmy, the two greatest swordsmen in all the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps the world. He didn't believe for a moment he could stand against either outside of a Tourney, and while the prince possessed great skill with a sword, his preference had always been diplomacy. That option died the moment the King used wildfire to burn the late Rickard Stark alive.

Had it not been for Aerys, the war may have been averted, though in truth he too shouldered a share of the blame for this conflict. Rhaegar had fallen for the lovely Lyanna Stark, a woman promised the Robert and the only daughter of Rickard Stark, the late Warden of the North. He, a man married to Elia Martell of Dorne, a woman he couldn't bring himself to love despite the son and daughter she'd born him. Besides, Elia couldn't offer him a third child. Lyanna was both his love and soon would be the mother of the third head of the dragon.

He still remembered seeing Lyanna for the first time, at the Tourney of Harrenhal, she had been in a clunky suit of armor, holding a shield with a laughing tree painted upon its face. He could never hope to find any woman more interesting so long as he lived. Soon after, they had professed love for one another. After that, Lyanna had returned North, much to the dismay of Rhaegar. After only a short few months, the prince couldn't bear to be apart from his Lyanna any longer. So along with Arthur Dayne, he rode North and under the cover of night stole her away south.

He had hoped that it would have been the end of it and that he and his beloved Lyanna could have stayed there, but Brandon Stark road to King's Landing to demanded both the head of Rhaegar and the return of his little sister.

When Brandon Stark had ridden to King's Landing, he had unknowingly gone to his death, Rhaegar hadn't been there, and he had given his demands to a mad king. While Brandon had no doubt heard the rumors about his father's sickly mind, Brandon soon experienced the king's insanity first hand.

All those who'd come to the capital with Brandon were quickly executed, and the brazen Stark was taken captive. Soon after Brandon Stark's father, the Warden of the North Rickard Stark was called to King's Landing to answer for his son's crimes against the crown. Upon arriving, Lord Stark demanded a trial by combat, knowing that he would find no justice in the king's court, he was granted his request, and as his champion, the king chose fire. Brandon Stark had been forced to watch as his father was burned alive, his screams filling the hall as the Mad King laughed upon the Iron Throne; to further the younger Stark's pain, his sword had been put just out of his reach. It was said that Rickard's son had been choked to death by the cord that was clasped around his neck, all the while attempting to reach his sword in a vain attempt at saving his father from the green-blazed of the wildfire.

So much had happened since then. Now the acts of a madman had led to this very moment. Today, this war would be decided. They had long since gone past the point where diplomacy could avert what was to come. Rhaegar intended to end the rebellion here, and then, he intended to deal with the Mad King.

"Ser Lewyn has readied the Martell forces on our left flank, Your Highness." Rhaegar turned towards the harsh and yet comfortably familiar voice of Ser Barristan.

Barristan Selmy had given his life to protect the crown, and now he served in King Aerys II's Kingsguard. When Rhaegar was just a young boy, Ser Barristan was often given the task of protecting Rhaegar. While Ser Barristan was the eldest of the Kingsguard, he was also one of the deadliest, second only to perhaps Arthur Dayne. The Esteemed Knight had been ordered to follow the prince to the Trident for this very moment. It was the hope of many that his experience and skill with a blade might tip the tide of the battle itself.

"Good," Rhaegar nodded. "Perhaps his men will be the deciding factor in this battle, I could trust no one better to the task."

"Yes," Ser Barristan nodded in agreement. "They've seen battle before, unlike most of these men. Some of them look so green they'd probably piss grass." Rhaegar could only summon up a nervous chuckle, earning a slight smirk from the Knight.

"At least we have the numbers, though with what I've been told of our enemy-" Rhaegar trailed off, his eyes moving to his lap.

"They are indeed battle hardened. If we didn't have the numbers, we'd stand no chance against these lot." Ser Barristan admitted.

Rhaegar remained silent for a moment, only giving a quick nod in reply. Rhaegar could tell Ser Barristan noticed the far-off look in his eyes, it was a look he must have seen often in the eyes of men on the eve of battle. Though he was not afraid for himself, but for his children and Lyanna.

"Your Highness-" Ser Barristan began, but he was cut off by the thunder of war horns that echoed across the ford.

As soon as the blast of horns died, there came an eruption of shouts from the rebel army, the shouts were led by a man clad in yellow plate armor at the enemy front. He wielded a shield bearing the sigil of House Baratheon, a black stag on a yellow field, in one hand, and a thick steel hammer in the other. While his helm concealed his face, Rhaegar knew the man to be Robert Baratheon. It may have been the deaths of Starks that sparked the war, but it was Robert who was leading the rebellion. The Stag was after one thing, Rhaegar's head.

During the Stag's campaign against the throne, he had made it abundantly clear to the whole of the realm of his intention to remove the Targaryen's from power, by not only taking the dragons off the Iron Throne but from existence. The rebel leader, on several occasions, vowed to kill every dragon spawn he could get his hands on.

Upon seeing the Stag move to the head of his army, Rhaegar mirrored the move, urging his horse forward until he had made it to the front of his own force. Ser Barristan followed the prince, determined to make sure that the prince was protected as he tightly gripped the handle of his blade, ready to draw his weapon on a moment's notice. The rebels let loose another cry that echoed across the ford as they started forward.

It was like an avalanche, slow at first, but the rebel army was quickly gaining speed as the Stag himself, led the enemy charge. The site was terrifying, even for the prince, though he forced himself not to show it in times such as this.

Wherever Rhaegar looked he could see horses surging towards him, the men riding them looking eager for the clash that was soon to come. It wouldn't be long before they would meet in battle, then the song of war would ring throughout the landscape. Coming to his senses, Prince Rhaegar quickly shouted orders to his commanders to send forth a volley of arrows to meet the rebel's charge. The command was quickly relayed, and a black cloud of arrows was sent forth to meet the oncoming charge. The arrows, for a moment, seemed to hang in the air as though they might never fall from the sky, however, it wasn't long before the projectiles came crashing back to the earth. The moment the arrows started to land, riders and horses alike were sent crashing to the dirt and screams of dying men began to swell up. While at first, it appeared the volley had slowed the charge, the wall of men and horses quickly regained their momentum and continued barreling toward their line.

"Ready the charge!" Rhaegar shouted, drawing his sword. "We will send them into the stranger's cold embrace!" On his command, the Targaryen force let out their own battle cry. The men under his command seemed eager to fight for the prince, a man they hoped to see as their king once this nightmare was finished.

Grabbing his reins in one hand, Rhaegar took in a sharp breath and let out a loud cry, urging his steed forward, ready to meet Robert and his men in battle. The ride to meet the rebel army seemed to take an eternity. Everything was clear as he rode forward, the men around him and the enemy in front of him, and for a moment, it seemed like he would remain in that state until the end of time. However, as quickly as the feeling had come, it vanished, replaced instead with the feeling of chaos.

There was a sudden clash of steel and crushing of bodies as the two armies thundered against one another, it was something that Rhaegar could never hope to grow accustomed to. He found himself being swallowed whole by the roaring tide of battle. The screeching of dying horses along with the stench of cries from wounded men quickly filled the ford. Rhaegar was lost in the mess of battle, his sword flashing brilliantly as he slew every rebel that dared cross blades with him. A few times he had come close to being struck, but luck seemed to be with him as he was able to avoid the blows, having thus far only suffered a few minor bruises.

It wasn't long, however, before a spear was thrust deep into the side of his mount, sending the beast rearing back onto its hind legs, throwing the prince into the mud, his horse collapsing dead a few feet away. Fighting hard for air, Rhaegar had only seconds to get to his feet before the battle was upon him again. A brave, or rather foolish, man of House Stark rushed him with an ax held overhead. The prince was just able to sidestep the man's clumsy swing, which granted him an opening he used to impale the man with his blade, sending his bloodied enemy falling into the mud.

It seemed to only have been the start of the bloody battle. Once more Ser Barristan joined him at the front of the line where the two were thrown headfirst into the worst of the fighting. Pressing forward, the two cut a path through the enemy. They seemed like an unstoppable force upon the battlefield, splashing into the waters of the ford as their army forced the rebels back into the stream.

At some point, however, Rhaegar found Barristan had been forced from his side. Rhaegar couldn't quite recall when it had happened, as everything just seemed to blur together in this bloody mess. Regardless, Rhaegar was more concerned with leading the push than trying to find the old knight, he trusted Ser Barristan could take care of himself. Rhaegar imagined that if he just could break the Rebel center then he could rout his enemies, forcing them their surrender, and run them down if needed.

That was when Rhaegar saw Robert Baratheon sloshing through the water of the ford, his hammer swinging wildly, sending any man stupid enough to get in his way to their end. Gathering his strength, the prince pressed forward, determined to end the war here and now. Should he slay Robert, the Rebels would surely falter. Slaying two men in his way, the prince waded through the shallow waters, making his way toward the Rebel leader.

"Robert!" Rhaegar shouted, challenging the man.

Turning to the sound of his voice, Robert Baratheon yanked his helm off, revealing the man's face that was covered in a mix of blood and sweat.

"Fuckin' Dragon seed!" The Stormlord shouted back in reply.

The two men soon charged at one another, both ready to put an end to the battle with the death of the other. It only took a few strides before Rhaegar was swinging his sword downward with all his might, only for the blow to be blocked by the Baratheon's thick, oak shield. Pulling back his blade, Rhaegar was forced to backpedal as the Stag lifted his heavy war hammer in reply, sending the heavy steel weapon toward Rhaegar's head. The prince had only a moment to think as he swung his sword with just enough power to divert the blow to his right, causing a burst of water to shoot out of the blood-soaked river. Seeing an opening in the overextended Baratheon, Rhaegar drove his blade forth, scoring a gash to his enemy's side.

Howling, Robert reeled backward. However, the prince's enemy was quick to replace his pain with anger. Raging, the Stag's hammer was soon a blur as he unleashed an unrelenting attack. It was quickly evident to Rhaegar that he was doing all he could just to survive the man's vicious blows. Parrying the attacks took everything Rhaegar had, but he could tell the Baratheon was growing tired, though the prince wasn't in a good condition himself. Rhaegar, once again, saw the Stag overextend himself as he swung his hammer for the prince's side. Taking the opportunity, Rhaegar swung his sword hard, but the Stag lifted his shield in defense once more, but his blade splintered the oak shield, flinging it from Roberts grip into the ford. His enemy staggering, Rhaegar lifted his sword for a killing blow. With this, he would win the day, and after that, he would return home and deal with his father.

Except he never struck the blow. Out of seemingly nowhere, the prince felt a sharp pain burst from the small of his back, and for a moment, the prince was at a loss for what happened. That was until it occurred again, this time in his arm, forcing his blade from his hand. Rhaegar looked to his right arm, able to see the point of one of the two arrows that had struck him, the other being in his back.

Stumbling, the prince's vision was becoming blurred as blood freely flowed from his wounds. The prince had only just recovered enough to see the flash of Robert's hammer flying for his chest, the realization that he was powerless to stop the blow came over him. The moment it made contact, the prince felt his ribs shatter, air rushing from his collapsing lungs. Flying back, Rhaegar saw the flash of the rubies that had decorated his breastplate flying into the air before him as he fell into the cold water of the ford.

Rhaegar faintly realized he was about to die. The prince was only half aware as the Stag stood over him, his war hammer raised above his head to put an end to his already fading life. So close to death, Rhaegar could only think of one thing, and it filled him with more pain than anything the Robert could ever hope to inflict upon him. He would never see his love again, he would die here while she lay thousands of leagues away. His last thoughts where of how he should have never left her, he should have stayed with her, the war and the Iron Throne be damned.

"L-Lyanna..." Rhaegar choked out with his dying breath, his last thoughts fixed upon his Queen of Love and Beauty.

Then, Robert's hammer fell. So, it came to be that Rhaegar Targaryen, the Last Dragon, was no more.

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 **Final Edited VR. (Aug 31, 2018)**


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

* * *

 **NED I**

The Rebel army had marched long and hard from the Trident on Roberts command for the capital expecting to set the city to siege, but then the scouts returned. They had reported that the city was smoking, and that a great host had sacked the capital. When Ned asked what banners, they were flying the scouts reported seeing the Golden Lion flying high above the Gate of the Gods. Thanking the men Ned took the head of the army and marched onto the city with great haste. Ned could smell the stench of King's Landing long before the city was even in view. When at last he could see the capital, Ned looked over the plumes of smoke that told of the sacking that had occurred.

Taking his host down the Kings Road, Ned approached the Gate of the Gods with the Lion of Lannister flying high. Outside of the Gate stood a small Host of five hundred some men with a man in thick plated armor mounted atop a gold haired stead. Ned accompanied by Howland Reed and serval other riders rode up to meet the commander of the detachment before the gate.

Upon reaching the host the man pulled open his helm to reveal none other than Ser Kevan Lannister, brother to the Lord of Casterly Rock. Ned had remembered him a few years younger though he was without doubt that Ser Kevan was still a formidable warrior in his own right.

"Lord Stark," Ser Kevan tilted his head toward the northern lord. "I was told by our scouts your host would be arriving, my brother thought it best that we met you at the gate."

Ned looked past him and toward the city which was still burning. "What is the meaning of this?"

"The meaning? I don't quite follow."

"You're Lord Tywin was neutral in the war up until now. Why have you moved to sack the city?" Ned demanded.

"My brother thought it wise to show his support for Lord Robert, though I suppose it's to be King Robert soon enough."

"King Robert? Where is the Mad King then?"

"Dead, or so I've been told. If it's true that he is dead, I've yet to hear any reliable on how he died as I have not been inside the city; my duty was to hold the rear until your host arrived."

Ned frowned at the news of the man's death. He had intended for the king to be put to a trial for his crimes and then beheaded. Ned sighed. "I suppose the city has been secured then?"

"Most assuredly Lord Stark, my brother Lord Tywin has been seeing such matters personally."

Content Ned turned back to his commanders. "Take your men and see to it that the city is under control. I don't wish for any more bloodshed than there need be." Ned then turned to Ser Kevan addressing him. "With Aerys death I can assume that the Red Keep is secured?"

"Yes, Lord Stark."

"Good, Lord Reed, Lord Umber, with me." Ned commanded as the three men rode for the gate with a small number of his bannermen following closely behind on their own mounts.

As the rebel forces rode into the city, they saw Lannister men scattered about every street they passed, many of them taking to the belongings of dead soldiers and civilians alike. Looking about, Ned could see the bodies of warriors sworn to House Targaryen mixed in with the uncountable corpses of the innocent commoners caught in the slaughter that had stained the streets. Ned had never seen so many flies in all his life, and it was all that he could do to stop himself from gaging at the smell of death that festered all around him, though the site nor smell seemed to have been effecting the Lannister men as they walked over the bodies with little regard. Ned's men remained quiet as they took in the sense, which in terms of blood and carnage rivaled even that of the Trident.

Riding passing the Great Sept of Baelor, Ned could see the silent sisters walking to and from the Great Sept carrying bodies of Lannister men to priests as young girls wept before septas as they prayed for forgiveness after men had taken liberties with them. Ned could do nothing but ride past them to Aegon's High Hill to the Red Keep.

The gate was open, guarded by Lannister Knights who hailed Ned as he passed them by. As Ned rode the castle grounds he could see the bodies of the loyalists how had refused to surrender, if they had even been given such a chance, lining the path to the Castle Proper. Looking to one end of the grounds, just beside one of the castle stables, Ned could see a mound of the black and red of Targaryen banners being set alight as Lannister men celebrated around the blaze with wine from the Keeps own stores.

"My Lord." Ned quickly turned to the sound to see Howland Reed had ridden up on his left side.

"What is it, Lord Reed?" Ned said, his gaze moving back to the blaze.

"I spoke to one of the Lannister men, irritating fellow, but he claimed the Mad King's body has yet to be taken from the Throne Room."

"Then we shall go to collect his and Ser Jaime's body, if Lord Tywin hasn't seen to his son already." Ned said, dismounting his horse as he started for the doors of the keep.

"My Lord," Howland said, coldly. "Ser Jaime yet lives."

Ned stopped and turned back to face the Lord of Greywater Watch. "How badly injured is the lad?"

Lord Reed didn't flinch as he replied. "He isn't, injured that is."

Seeming to understand him, Ned felt his blood boil as he turned his heel and stormed for the throne room, Lords Reed and Umber following him close behind. It hadn't taken long for the party to come bursting into the throne room. It was vast with massive white marble pillars that supported its high ceilings with its expansive arches. The walls of the room held paintings of the feats of the Targaryen's long and once proud dynasty and even some depictions of Old Valyria, along with long black banners flying the red three headed dragon sigil. But all of this was but a distraction for the true presence in the room, the Iron Throne. The seat of power for the Seven Kingdoms was no ordinary throne, it was a seat made for a conqueror. The throne had been given its name for the swords of that comprised it, as they stretched into a pile that twisted its way skyward until it reached its peak, at least forty feet in the air, with a great expanse of windows behind that flooded light over it casting its shadow on the marble floor.

It was the first time any of them had stepped foot here, and the site would have been impressive had it been any other occasion, save the dark thoughts of what had happened to Ned's family in this very room. But all that gave way as Ned looked up the steps of the Throne to find none other than Ser Jamie Lannister sitting at its summit, his blood-stained sword across his lap, the Mad King lying dead at the foot of the Iron Throne in a pool of his own blood. From where the Mad King laid, it was apparent to Ned that he had been stabbed in the back, and his blood was on the sword of a member of his own sworn Kingsguard, who now sat in the seat of the very king he had sworn to die for.

"Ser Jaime, what is the meaning of this!" Ned demanded, marching forward.

"I had expected to find you in higher spirits, Lord Stark," Ser Jaime replied, setting aside his sword as he rose from the throne. "After all, the murderer of your dear father and brother is dead." The knight said, his face stern as he descended the throne.

"Aye, and you killed him." Ned said, looking directly into the knight's eyes, his distrust evident. Ser Jaime looked as though he had more to say, but bit his tongue as he just returned Ned's gaze. Ned then turned to Lord Umber. "Take Ser Jamie, this Kingslayer will answer for his crimes as an oath breaker."

On Ned's commanded, Lord Umber drew his sword and moved to take Ser Jamie. The knight wasn't given a moment to think before Lord Umber along with two others had him. Ned looked the Lannister in his eyes before cursing him. "You have no honor." Ned fumed.

"Release him Ned." Boomed as voice as Ned heard several sets footsteps behind himself. Turning, Ned gazed upon Robert, who was still wrapped in bandages from the scars he had earned at the Trident.

"Robert, I thought you were still recovering from your wounds." Ned looked at his friend in surprise.

"I was, but I decided I was well enough to at least look at the battle from afar, that was until I was that there was no battle to be had at all." Robert explained. "Now let the fucker go Ned."

Ned tensed. "He killed Aerys Targaryen, stabbed his own King in the back! You know as well as I do what that means."

"It means he killed a bloody madman," Robert boomed. "As far as I care one less Targaryen in the world is one less problem."

Ned felt his blood run hot but signaled for his bannermen to release Ser Jaime. Seeing the command, Howland Reed shoved the Kingslayer forward, letting him free. Lord Umber grunted under his breath as Ser Jamie offered the Lord of the Last Hearth a smug smirk.

"The Mad King is dead, so what will you do with the children, murder them?" Ned snapped.

"There is no need to concern yourself with the remaining dragon spawn, Lord Stark." A new voice said as a third party entered the throne room.

Looking past Robert, Ned saw Tywin Lannister for the first time. The man stood dressed in golden armor bearing the sigil of a lion upon his breastplate. The armor was the finest Ned had seen upon any man and even had plated gold around the trim of the steel. Lord Tywin was thin though he stood tall with his back straight looking down at everyone as if they were beneath himself. His golden hair was kept thin and his face was well groomed with well-kept golden sideburns, but what drew attention to his cold eyes one a deep green the other an icy blue. Ned felt his eyes narrow, he decided he already distrusted the southron lord nearly as much as he had Walder Frey when he had arrived late upon the end of the fighting at the ford, the only difference had been that Lord Tywin had managed to influence the fighting.

"What is your meaning, Lannister?" Ned felt his hand tighten around his sword as he spoke.

"I mean, I've had them dealt with," The lord scoffed. "What, did you think that the heirs to the Targaryen dynasty could be allowed to live? You'd have an uprising of loyalists the moment they are given a chance if the children of Rhaegar Targaryen are left alive."

"You had children murdered?!" Ned looked to Robert, hoping the man would see the folly in the murder of children, but felt his mood worsen even more when he saw a smile creep across the Baratheon's face.

"It was necessary," Tywin narrowed his eyes as he looked at Ned. "You northerners are too honorable, it'll get you all killed one day. If you leave seeds of rebellion behind they will be sure to bear fruit one day. Best to snuff these things out now and be done with it."

"Aye, us northerners have honor and you southerners have your gold and wines, but I would rather die with my honor than do what you see as necessary." Ned replied slamming his sword into his sheath, the sound echoing across the marble floor. "If I were to judge-"

"Enough, Ned! The Targaryens were monsters who killed your family and took Lyanna from me, the more, the merrier, I say." Robert boomed, making his way past Ned. Lord Stark, for a moment, felt his patience for his friend slip but reined himself in as he watched Robert walk deeper into the throne room as he looked up at the greatest seat in all the Seven Kingdoms.

"If I can find no justice here then I'll take my leave."

"There is still the matter of Storm's End I believe." Tywin Lannister reminded Robert.

"Yes, my brother Stannis is hold up in the castle." Robert replied without removing his eyes from the throne. "We should move to lift the siege at once."

"I will go to lift the siege then." Ned tried to hide his anger though he was still ripe with it. "Perhaps I might find out where my sister is, since near everyman who could tell us is either dead or missing. I shall leave with two-thousand men to hold the city, I suspect I'll be able to get Lord Tyrell to bend the knee with little resistance when he had ten-thousand men at his rear."

Robert just nodded, Ned knew he would be crowned soon enough, but the Lord of Winterfell was too bitter to see it. Ned gathered his men and made leave for the city, leaving both Robert and the piles of bodies behind him. He didn't know how he felt about what had happened, he suspected he'd never see Robert the same, perhaps he could forgive, but he doubted he would ever forget.

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter was edited on 09/24/17 due to mistakes within the chapter itself. There as been a bit of additional dialog added though the main theme of the chapter is the same. If you have any edits that I might have missed feel free to send me a PM. I plan on editing more of the older chapter this week before I drop the next chapter. Thanks.

-AA

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 _ **SPECIAL THANKS TO MY AMAZING EDITOR/BETA READER**_

 **Katakana Katana**


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

* * *

 **Arthur I**

The two parchments laid pressed in the hands of Ser Arthur Dayne as he looked over the rolling hills of Dorne. The sun was already low in the sky as the knight clutched the papers in his hand. They had both arrived in quick succession, each had held ill news. The Targaryen dynasty had come crashing down, and the knight had been hundreds of leagues away when it happened, powerless to defend those who had sworn to defend.

Brooding, Ser Dayne turned from the open window that he had been looking from and looked upon the very reason he hadn't been able to protect House Targaryen. Lyanna Stark, who carried the last of Rhaegar's children in her womb, though not for much longer.

When he had first laid eyes on her, she was but a girl of four and ten, but she had captured the heart of Prince Rhaegar at the tourney of Harrenhal. Not long after, the prince and him, with the company of Oswell Whent, had ridden north and stole away the young lady in the night. Not long after the pair had a sept wed them, consummating the marriage that night. Arthur would have been happy for the pair; had it not lead to the death of Lord Stark and his heir. He remembered, vividly, at how she had wept, and Rhaegar promised her he would make his father pay for the Starks deaths. However, he was never given the chance to overthrow the king as the usurper had rallied the Starks and marched for the prince's head, and to his sorrow, had now claimed it.

The knight might have continued to brood longer had it not been for the high-pitched cry of pain that Lyanna let out, her labor being a bloody one. She had been like this for over an hour now, and he had watched over her. The handmaidens had requested he leave, but he would have none of it.

"My friend is dead and can't see his lady wife give birth to the last of his children. I will not abandon her; it is now my duty to protect this child and its mother."

After that, they had left his to the edge of the room, where he stayed out of the way of the women as they tended to Lyanna. Time seemed to crawl by as he waited for them to help the girl with her labor, and eventually, they had carried her through the ordeal as she finished giving birth to her and the late prince's child.

"A boy!" One, the blond-haired handmaiden, announced happily before taking the baby to be washed in a basin of water.

It wasn't long after, that Lyanna had reached out with both of her arms for the child as her handmaiden passed off the child to her. Arthur, for a moment, was happy for Lyanna, but at the feeling was soon replaced with concern. Looking at her, he quickly noticed just how pale the girl was, and it had seemed that the covers on her where only being soaked with more blood with every passing second.

"Arthur-" Lyanna said weakly, her eyes began to droop as she held her child tightly in her arms. Upon hearing Lyanna call to him, Arthur rushed to her side. Tentatively reaching out, the knight grabbing hold of her free hand, and was taken back by just how cold she felt.

"I'm here my lady," Arthur replied softly before turning to one of the two handmaidens. "Bring her something! She's losing too much blood."

"I don't want to die." Lyanna said, her eyelids fluttering as she tried to fight off an endless sleep.

"No, you're not going to die my lady." Arthur assured her.

"N-No," Lyanna said weakly, her voice sounded frail. "I need you to listen to me. I need you to listen," she repeated, squeezing Arthur's hand with that little strength she had left. "His name is Jon, you have to protect him, you have to. I don't have much time left." Lyanna sniffled as she started to sob lightly.

"No, you'll be there with him, I promised Rhaegar I would protect you no matter the cost." Arthur felt the pain again, he couldn't bring himself to accept that the love of his best friend might be dying, he couldn't fail his memory.

"You need to protect him. If Robert finds out, he'll kill him." Lyanna said, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Promise me, promise me you'll keep him safe."

Arthur looked down as Lyanna pushed her child into his hands. The knight could only stare down at the boy in his arms. The child was a small thing with tiny swirls of black hair atop his head, and the child looked up at him with his dark grey eyes. It was then that it struck him that he was holding the very future of House Targaryen, this boy was now the heir to the most powerful seat in all the world. At the realization, Arthur looked down at the young prince, and that was when he realized it was his duty to protect the son of his friend with his life.

Looking back to Lyanna, Arthur gave her a slight nod. "I swear to you, on my life, I shall protect your son."

Lyanna smiled, a look of relief washed over her as he lifted her hand and lightly touched her child's cheek. "I love you Jon, more than you'll ever know." It was then that her eyes fell shut and her hand fell limp at her side. Arthur felt cold, it was as if he had failed his prince once more. Yet another vow he had been powerless to see through.

It was then that Arthur looked back upon Jon, the small child had fallen asleep in his arms, and it was then that his duty had become clear. He was to protect the now rightful heir to the iron throne, Jon Targaryen. However, it was best that all those who could not be trusted with knowledge of his existence be eliminated, for Lyanna was right; the usurper would chase them to the ends of the Earth if he knew of Rhaegar's son. So, setting the babe beside his mother's body, Ser Arthur rose, drawing his sword.

The first handmaiden had been so overcome by the sudden death of her mistress, that she didn't even see the flash of dawn before it had cut her down, without so much as a scream to signal her death. The second however screamed upon seeing the other girl cut down, her face fixed in a state of shock as she stumbled for the door, but Ser Dayne had anticipated the move cutting her off before she would reach the door. There, then came the moment when the girl's eyes widened as the realization of her own death set in. Opening her mouth, the girl attempted to plead for her life, but no words left her lips as the pale white edge of Dawn cut into her side, abruptly ending her life.

Looking over the scene, Arthur reached down, retrieving a dry bit of cloth from one of Lyanna's fallen handmaid's dresses and used the material to clean the blood from Dawn before returning it to his scabbard. Now, looking back to Lyanna's body, Arthur was astounded to find that Jon hadn't been stirred from his sleep with the shouting of the girls. Cautiously, Arthur took a step forward but stopped when the door behind him burst open.

Turning, Arthur's hand flew to his sword as the figures of Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The pair took a long look around at the bloody scene in front of them, their faces pale.

Arthur watched as Gerold rose a hand to steady him. "Relax. Tell me what happened."

Lifting his hand from Dawn, he looked back to Jon. "The Lady died giving birth to a son, and with her last moments, she had me promise to see to the boy's protection." Turning back to his commander, Arthur gestured to the bodies around him. "I couldn't trust these two to keep news of the boy's birth safe, not in life at the very least."

Ser Gerold nodded before looking past Arthur to Lyanna's corpse. "And so, it seems our duty here has come to an unfortunate end."

"What shall we do with the child?" Ser Whent said, speaking at last.

"He cannot stay here. By now the location of where the Prince hosted the Lady will have reached the usurpers ears," Arthur said, receiving a nod of agreement from Gerold. "We must ride out at once."

"I agree, though one of us must stay behind. The bodies of these girls need to be burnt, along with all evidence that Rhaegar has another child."

"I will see to it." Whent spoke, his eyes falling on Jon.

"I would not force this burden upon you, my brother."

"No, you two will be needed to protect the young prince, especially now that he is without a wet nurse. I pray he'll take well to goat's milk." Whent chuckled to himself.

"Very well. Oversee the Lady's body, and if a foe comes upon you, may you send him to an early grave my friend." Whent nodded in return.

"May your travels be uneventful, my friends."

With that, Arthur took Jon back into his arms, descending the tower, leaving Ser Whent to tend to the dead. The pair of Gerold and Arthur gathered as much as they dared take with them and quickly saddled two horses and prepared to ride.

Mounting their horses, the two knights headed south, deciding it best to find shelter with those they could trust. It had been decided, they rode for Starfall, leaving the Tower of Joy behind them, the rightful heir to the throne tucked in Arthur Dayne's arm.

* * *

 _ **SPECIAL THANKS TO MY AMAZING EDITOR/BETA READER**_

 **Katakana Katana**


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is the property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

* * *

 **NED II**

The journey from Storm's End had delayed Ned's search for his sister, longer than he had hoped. Upon his leaving King's Landing, the now King Robert had commanded him to march the armies of the North to the castle and release the hold that the Tyrells had put upon the king's brother and current heir Stannis, along with his men. It had been a task that was done easily enough once the Tyrells had been informed that King's Landing was now in the hands of Robert, after that, they quickly broke off the siege and Mace Tyrell was sent to the capital to pledge fealty to the new king.

It had only been then that whispers of Lyanna's location had reached him by raven. This had led him to ride south with some of his most trusted commanders. Now, looking over the rolling hills of Dorne, Ned gazed upon a lone tower. Urging his mount forward, Ned led his party of Howland Reed, Lord Willam Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, and Ser Mark Ryswell toward the tower. Reaching the base of the hill upon which the structure sat, Ned dismounted and Howland quickly came to his side as the men made the short ascent to the peak, where they were greeted by a man dressed in the golden and white armor of the Kingsguard.

"Ser Oswell Whent," Ned said, not hiding his contempt. "I looked for you on the Trident."

"I wasn't there, regrettably. Had I been, though, your usurper would have met the most unpleasant of ending."

"Where are the others?" Ned demanded.

"They are not with me any longer."

"Have they left for Dragon Stone with Ser Willem and your Queen then?" Ned asked, but received no answer. "I see. Then tell me, where is my sister?" Whent's eyes dropped to the ground for a moment, making Ned's heart fall as he began to fear the worst.

"I wish you fortune in the wars yet to come." Whent said, pulling his blade, and quickly moved to engage Lord Dustin who had taken up position closed to the Kingsguard.

It had been a surprise to the lord, as he only had gotten his sword halfway out of its scabbard before Whent had sliced open his gut, sending the man to the group with a gasp of pain. Cursing, Ned pulled his own blade and advanced upon Whent who had already engaged with both Ser Ryswell and Theo Wull.

Running up to join the fray, Ned watched helplessly as Oswell Whent's sword was thrust straight through the chest of Theo Wull, who collapsed instantly as he began to be drowned in the blood that was filling his lungs. Stepping over his fallen brother, Ned swung his weapon, cutting Whent's exposed leg only for the knight to parry his assault, but Ned could see in the realization in the man's face of his doom as he realized he would soon be overwhelmed. Striking at the man, the five remaining Northerners pressed their attacks putting the knight on the defensive. Ned was impressed with how well Whent was holding out, but as expected, he was overwhelmed the moment Howland's sword opened a wound in the man's sword arm. Using the opening, Ned thrust his sword straight into the man's neck, ending his life quickly. Letting out a deep breath, Ned looked upon his fallen men, cursing to himself for allowing Whent to kill them so easily.

Bringing his thoughts back to the tower, Ned glanced up at the stone structure before he took off into a dead sprint, his thoughts now on the condition of his sister. Ascending the stairs, Ned could hear his heartbeat in his ears, his mind starting to drift to dark thoughts, but he wouldn't allow himself to think them, he had to believe she was alright.

Bursting into the tower, Ned quickly ascended the winding steps until he reached a pair of thick wooden doors. Throwing them open, Ned ran into the room and instantly felt his heart drop as fast as his sword, the ring of the metal hitting the floor reverberating in his ears.

Looking up, Ned found himself gazing upon the pale figure of his sister. Rushing to Lyanna's side, Ned grabbed one of her hands and felt his very soul grow as cold as her hands. The realization quickly set in that he had been too late, he had failed his sister, his sister had passed into memory, along with his brother and father.

Letting out a cry, Ned pulled the limp form of his sister close to him and wept as he held her, wishing that the gods, new or old, would somehow bring her back to him. That was how he stayed for quite some time before he had been dragged from the room by Howland, who he had stuck in the face, drawing blood from a cut he opened on the man's lip. He had been in a sorry state for a while after that, while his men gathered the bodies of the dead, taking Lyanna from the tower to be placed upon a wagon they had found along with the bodies of Lord Dustin and Theo Wull.

"My Lord, we are ready to depart with the bodies. However, we have yet to attend to Ser Whent." Howland said, his voice grave.

Ned nodded, his eyes still fixed upon the ground as he sat slumped up against the base of the tower. "Burn it, leave it for the crows, I care not." Ned's voice was firm as he rose to his feet.

"I'll see to a pyre at once." Howland said with a slight bow.

"No," Ned said, stopping Howland before he could move to leave. "Inform Ser Ryswell and Martyn Cassle they are to attend to Whent and then take the bodies of Theo Wull and Lord Dustin North, and then have Lyanna laid to rest in the crypts of Winterfell with her family."

"You will not be heading back to Winterfell?" Howland said casually.

"No, we'll be heading after those who helped to see to my sister's death." Ned clenched his fist. "We'll hunt the remaining members of Arey's Kingsguard."

"My Lord, they could be anywhere in Dorne by now."

"Yes, but I know the one place they would head, they would head to Starfall, the birthplace of Ser Dayne." Ned's mind lingered for a moment on the women who lived there, but the thought was quickly replaced by the image of his dead sister.

"That would be a good a place as any to search for them. Though if they had headed for Starfall, I doubt they would stay there for long, they could reason it to be the first place we would look for them, My Lord."

"I agree. However, it's our best lead as of this moment," Ned then wove his hand for Howland to do as he was bid. "Go, see to it that the bodies are attended to and have Ethan and Ser Martyn ready to ride for Starfall." Bowing, Howland departed to do as he had been commanded.

Ned felt his headache and decided to take a short walk away from the tower, it would be some time before they would be ready to depart, and he could no longer stay so near to the place his sister had been held captive. Walking down from the top of the hill upon which the Tower of Joy stood, Ned quietly left to brood on his own and walked until he was well enough away from the tower that he could put it from his mind.

Taking a few more steps, Ned felt something under his foot give way with a loud crack. Looking down, Ned removed his foot to look at what appeared to be bones blacked with soot and ash. Examining the surrounds closer, Ned saw that it looked as though what little remained of the person had been scattered across the landscape around him. Scouring the area, Ned could find the remains of two human skulls, along with sacred cloth. Cursing, Ned decided that they must have been women, possibly handmaidens to his sister, no doubt killed after his sister's own death. Infuriated, Ned turned quickly adamant to return to his men so that they could ride after those who had done his sister harm, but stopped when he spotted something white in the corner of his eye.

Walking over to the brush, Ned bent down and retrieved the object. Looking closely at it, Ned saw it to be a white wolf carved of wood. The object was nothing foreign, it was exactly like the teethers his mother had made for each of her children, including Lyanna. He held to the object tightly in his hand, brushing off the soot and dirt that covered it, the memories of his sister coming back to him. Then it struck him, his sister had made this. Ned was puzzled, but then it dawned on him. At first, he had rejected the thought, but the more he thought on it, the more it seemed to make sense. If Lyanna had had a son, no one could know, Robert would kill him and he could very well be a threat to his friend's claim to the Iron Throne if he were to live.

Bolting to his feet, Ned pocketed the teether and quickly made his way back to the tower. If his sister had given birth to a child, he would find the child. Even if it was the son of a dragon, the baby would be half Stark, his nephew or niece, the last remaining part of Lyanna in this world. Ned vowed to himself, if Lyanna had truly given birth to a child, he would find them and see to it they returned with him, to Winterfell.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well we keep hitting milestones guys! I'm really excited to say that we have now over 6K view! I've really loved to read all your reviews and am excited to keep this story going! So I'm going to try and answer a few of the questions I've seen since last week.

Dany and Viserys will head to Essos and follow the same events as before. The change in the Tower of Joy will NOT affect them as of yet, though Dany will be a major player in the story down the road. Ned Stark will very much be a major player in this story not just in this ARC but also in the further, I won't divulge any more than that.

Once again, thanks to everyone who is supporting the story, please feel free to drop a Follow, Favorite, or Review to show your continued support!

-AA

* * *

 _ **SPECIAL THANKS TO MY AMAZING EDITOR/BETA READER**_

 **Katakana Katana**


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is the property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

* * *

 **A/N:** _Sorry for the delay on the update. I hope this longer chapter makes up for it._

 _Also, we've hit another landmark! We've gotten up to 200+ followers and over 8K views! You guys are the best!_

 _I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to Follow, Favorite, and Review!_

 _-AA_

* * *

 **ARTHUR II**

The sun sat low in the sky when Starfall had at last come into view. For Arthur, it was odd seeing his home after so many years, but he wouldn't allow himself to become nostalgic, they wouldn't be there long.

Readjusting Jon in his arm, Arthur looked down at the child, it appeared he had, once more, fallen asleep. Arthur was happy the boy was in good health, he had worried, at first, that the boy wouldn't take to goat's milk, but when he had offered, the child had drunk it greedily. It was one less thing that Arthur needed to concern himself with.

"I heard your Lord brother was dead, Arthur." Gerold said as the pair rode alongside one another.

"Yes, though he had a son before his passing, thank the Seven."

"Who serves at the head to Starfall. Lady Dayne."

Arthur shook his head. "My nephew's mother threw herself from the tallest of the towers of Starfall."

"Who, then, is the head of your house? Surely they haven't made your nephew Lord of Starfall."

Arthur couldn't help but chuckle to himself. "No, the boy isn't yet one. My sister Ashara is the acting Lady of Starfall."

"Ashara? Oh yes, I remember her. One of the finest ladies I've laid my eyes upon." Gerold said, taking a drink from his leather skin before offering it to Arthur who accepted it gratefully. "However, there was rumors that she and Eddard Stark had been close. Are you sure she'll help you over him?"

Taking a long drink of the warm liquid, Arthur capped the skin and handed it back to his commander. "Ashara and I have always been close. She used to cling to me whenever possible before mother started scolding her for it." Arthur let a smile crack at the memory.

"Good. Though we can't stay long, the usurper's men are bound to look for us at Starfall."

Arthur nodded in agreement before the two decided to ride with more haste for the gates, wanting to arrive before nightfall was upon them. When they had at last arrived at the coastline that Starfall stat, they were immediately hailed by a man in chainmail and purple cloth bearing the sigil of House Dayne.

"Halt, who goes there?" The man commanded.

"I am Ser Arthur Dayne, sword of the Morning, inform my sister Lady Ashara that I wish to see her." Arthur yelled up to the man. "Tell her I have come seeking refuge from the usurper."

"Right away Ser." The man said quickly. Leaving them for a short time before the gates were opened, allowing them safe entry to the castle. They were greeted upon entering by the same man who had hailed them when they had approached the gates.

"Ser Dayne, your Lady Sister awaits you in the Great Hall. I have been bid to attend to your horses." Giving the man a coin for his troubles, Gerold followed as he made his way to the Great Hall, Jon tucked in his arms.

Walking into the Great Hall Arthur spotted his sister seated at one of the long tables, writing letters with stacks of books and papers all around her. Looking up to the sound of the hall's doors opening Ashara smiled upon seeing her brother. Rising she made her way toward her brother but stopped and frowned her face puzzled upon seeing Jon asleep in Arthur's arms.

"A child? Who-"

"Best that we talk of that at a later time." Arthur quickly said cutting her off. "He is under my care, for now, that is all you need to know."

Ashara looked as though she wanted to ask more of the child but quickly decided against it. "Well, then I shall have the child seen to. Allyria will see he's taken care of, at your leave of course." Arthur looked back to Gerold who nodded in agreement with the proposal.

"That would be most kind of you sister."

Raising a hand, Ashara had a servant come and take the boy from Arthur and carried the boy away. Arthur was worried to away from the child but decided that the boy would be better suited with rest in a crib than in his arm.

"Now, I must ask why two members of the Kingsguard had arrived at my gates?" Ashara asked, dawning the temper of the head of House Dayne.

"The usurper has me out for our heads, we are making for Sunspear to find safe passage to Essos." Gerold replied firmly.

"You could bend the knee instead. I'm sure the new king will spare your lives."

"He'd find our knees don't bend easily." Gerold said coldly. "We still serve the dragons, even in these dark times.

"Why have you ridden farther into Dorne then? Dragonstone is the where the heir to the Targaryen Throne is, though for how much longer he'll remain there, I don't know." Ashara looked to both them, awaiting an answer, but only saw the two exchange tense looks. "I would guess it's the same reason you abandoned your armor for those cloaks and leather." Ashara sermonized on her own.

Arthur's hand fell upon Dawn at his sister's words, but Gerold broke the tension that had begun to build. "We'll divulge the true reasons for our venturing here, but only when we can be assured that what is to be said doesn't fall on the wrong ears."

Ashara remained silent but seemed to accept that offer as she gave the pair a slight nod. "Very well. We shall deduce the matter at a later time then, but for now, I must ask how long the two of you plan to remain at Starfall."

"Not long my Lady," Gerold informed her. "We fear that the usurper's men are already on our trail. We came here only for supplies and coin if it can be spared. We plan to leave this coming morn."

"Do you know who it was that they have sent after you?"

"No, though I assume that Lord Stark would lead the party. It was his sister that we were protecting in Dorne after all." Gerold said, his tone not hiding the respect he held for the Stark.

"I see." Ashara said, her voice holding a hint of sadness, and even longing perhaps.

It had been no secret to Arthur that Ashara had loved Eddard once, though he at the time had assumed it the be nothing more that a passing fancy for the Quiet Wolf of Winterfell. However, he had been mistaken when he had learned that Ashara and Ned had bedded after the tourney of Harrenhal. This single affair had lead to Ashara to come with the child, this was kept as quiet as possible, though a few Lords and Ladies know Stark was unaware. This had passed though when Ashara's child had been born stillborn, she had written to him many times about her grief, confiding in him as she had done many times before in their youth. Arthur had never gotten over that, but it was apparent as ever that his sister still harbored feelings for the Northern lord, he only hoped that those feelings didn't cloud her judgment.

"Very well," Ashara said, breaking the silence, at last, her voice regaining its normal edge. "I shall see to it that your requests are met, though I can not have you here for very long. As much as I detest that, though, I am to swear fealty to the new king soon. To have the knowledge that you were harbored her become common knowledge would put both those under my service and me under threat of being charged with treason against the crown."

"I understand, you must do what is best for your people." Gerold replied respectfully.

"I shall have one of my servants show you to your quarters." Ashara said with a slight curtsy before turning to head back to her work, but not before shooting Arthur a glance he had seen many a time and quickly took her meaning as he gave a slight nod in reply.

After following the servant to an adequate room, the pair of knights striped their cloaks and leather in favor of light cloth that was soft on the skin. The two then removed an end table and spread a map out across it, planning a route for Sunspear. After much debating, the two had decided to avoid the main roads. However, they also agreed they could not camp out in the elements as Jon was not even a week in age yet and they feared keeping the boy in the elements for such long periods of time would make the boy sickly, something they could not afford.

"You should check on Jon." Arthur said, folding the map in his hands.

"Me? You're the one that Lyanna instructed to protect the boy. It's your duty to see the prince's safety."

"Yes, but there is someone what I need to speak with tonight."

"Do you refer to Lady Ashara?"

Arthur nodded. "She, no doubt, already has guessed the origin of the prince, I would rather tell her and have her vow secrecy than let Eddard Stark pry the knowledge from her."

"Who's to say she won't give it to him if you tell her."

"I trust my sisters, especially Ashara. She'll do right by me, she always has."

Gerold looked hesitant but agreed. "Aye. She's, no doubt, already found out the origin of the boy, best to pick her mind and ensure she see's it our way."

"I shall leave to see her at once then, no doubt she's finished her own duties and will be awaiting me to seek her out." Arthur stood, tossing the folded map back upon the stand.

"And I shall see to the prince at once." Gerold said extending his hand giving Arthur his leave.

Exiting their quarters, Arthur started to make his way down the familiar halls of Starfall. It was odd being back home after so many years, though he forced himself to remain somewhat detached from the feeling as he would soon say goodbye to it once more.

After some time, the knight came to the familiar stairwell of the High Tower, it was a place that in his childhood his sister and he would often come to when they felt the need to discuss matters alone. Too often had they gone there and tried securities or stories they had overhead and had gotten in trouble many a time for doing so. Following the flight up, Arthur soon came to the old wooden door that lead out onto the balcony of the tower where his sister was undoubtedly waiting for him. Walking out, Arthur was met by the cool breeze of the night air which felt pleasant on his skin as he looked to the sky, gazing into the heavens.

"I was hoping you would understand, it's been so long since we've been up here." Arthur turned to his left and gazed upon his sister, who had the soft white light of the moon draped over her.

"How could I not, you only dragged me here every other day when we were children." Ashara chuckled at that and was soon joined by Arthur.

"Yes. However, more recently this place was for me to grief than to lament over past times."

"You mean after what happened to the Stark's child?" Arthur frowned at the memory as Ashara clutched her womb and slowly nodded her head, the pain in her eyes was very apparent.

Arthur wanted to say something of it, he had spoken to her of her stillborn baby, but only through ravens. However, when he opened his mouth to speak Ashara cut him off. "Tell me about the boy." She demanded.

Arthur clenched his jaw for a moment but allowed himself to relax. "What do you want to know about him?"

"Is he the prince's child, born to Lyanna Stark?"

Arthur looked away from his sister and clutched the stone railing in front of him before he finally spoke. "His name is Jon Targaryen, heir to the Seven Kingdoms. He is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark."

"Gods." Ashara said, hanging her head back. "You're feeling to Essos with the Last Dragon's son."

"Yes, though his existence can't be known until the time is right. The usurper will hunt the boy if he learns of his lineage."

"What about the boy's family?" Ashara snapped. "There are those of his blood that yet live to protect him."

"You mean Eddard Stark?" Arthur scoffed. "The man lead an army to see his father killed. Even if Lord Stark took him in he couldn't protect him, not so long as he was a Targaryen."

"The boy looked more Stark than Targaryen." Ashara pointed out.

Arthur Gritted his teeth at her implication. "I will not see the heir to the Throne passed off as a Stark bastard."

"What of his uncle Viserys?"

"The boy thinks himself the rightful king. If we brought Jon to him it's very likely he would try to kill the boy, or at the very least make him a puppet for his own use."

"Very well, you know the Targaryens better than I," Ashara conceded. "So then where in Essos will you go?"

"The free cities." Arthur said, staring out to the open sea.

"The free cities? What about the Golden Company, would they have any vested interest in helping your prince?"

Arthur laughed. "The Golden Company was formed by the Blackfyres, they would sooner see Jon dead than help a Targaryen retake the Iron Throne."

"If you had the gold, perhaps."

"He'll be without riches for a long time, the boy won't know his true calling until he's old enough to understand."

Ashara nodded in agreement as she looked back to her elder brother. "Promise me one thing, Arthur." Arthur looked back to his sister and saw her eyes, her face serious as ever. "Promise me you'll come back with the boy, alive."

Arthur bowed his head. "I can't."

"Why not?" Ashara demanded.

"You know why. I'm Kingsguard, if I need give my life for the boy, I will." Arthur looked to his sister his face firm. "I will fulfill my oath."

Ashara's face softened then as she rushed to embrace her brother in her arms. "You are the Sword of the Morning. You kill anyone you have to to protect that child, and then you come back here, alive." Ashara whispered into his ear.

"I will do my best." Arthur flashed a quick smile.

"You always have."

* * *

 _ **SPECIAL THANKS TO MY AMAZING EDITOR/BETA READER**_

 **Katakana Katana**


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is the property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

* * *

 **A/N:** _I'm alive! Yes, I know that its been forever since my last update. However, I had to move into my dorm room along with training camp that took up all my time. I'm sorry for the fact that I haven't been as active as I would like, but it needs to be understood that I will not be updating very often now that classes are starting back up. I am a student first, athlete second, and writing isn't exactly the end all be all for my life. I will try and update at LEAST twice a month, perhaps more. This being said I will try to make chapters longer to compensate. This one, however, was started a while back and I just this week put the finishing touches on it, and it relatively short, and I'm sorry for that._

 _Anyway, now that my rant is over, I'll be answering a few of the questions that have been asked from last chapter. So Edrick Dayne is alive here only because there is little to no info on his father (the prior Lord of Starfall) and I don't want to write about someone I have no info on... so broke canon there, sorry about it. Also, I killed Ashara and Ned's kid, because that's hinted at how it went down in the books. I didn't want to add in another character that people would then want to see just for the sake of a ship. It had no place in my story, sorry. To those asking about time jumps, yes there will be one, but you will see plenty of Jon and Arthur together in the story._

 _Hope I cleared up anything, and as always, fav, fallow, and review!_

* * *

 **NED III**

Looking to the high tower of Starfall, Ned followed closely behind three knights of Starfall as his men, and he were lead through the courtyard and into the castle. It had been years since he had seen the Lady of Starfall, and while he was glad to be able to see her again, he had promised himself on the day he had wed Catelyn Tully that he would never let his mind wander back to the night he had shared with her, all those years ago. However, now that he was so close to her, he couldn't help but remember, he feared he would have done something reckless had it not been for the thought the child that Lyanna may have had to be in the hands of those other than his family.

It wasn't long before Ned was finally lead into the castle and was greeted by a familiar voice. "I welcome you to Starfall, Lord Stark." Ashara Dayne said as Ned entered the Great Hall of Starfall. Looking to the far end of the hall, Ned saw Ashara, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, seated at the Lord's Table.

"Lady Dayne," Ned said with a slight bow. "It's pleasant to see you again." Ned felt his mind wander to the last time they had met. The memories of their passionate meeting still lingered with him, but he had his honor and wife to think of now.

"Yes," Ashara replied, her tone tense; as though she wanted to say something more, but in the end, had decided to refrain from doing so. "May I asked the origin of this visit, as I take it you haven't come to catch up, Lord Stark."

Ned shifted his weight and looked to Howland, who was staring down the men that had seen them to the hall. He looked as tense as Ned felt, though he imagined for different reasons.

"I've come for the two remaining Kingsguard of Aerys Targaryen." Ned stated bluntly.

Ashara's face twitched at his words but she was quick to reply. "I have not seen, nor heard of my brother or Lord Hightower."

"How did you know it was them that we spoke of?" Howland interjected. "There were three at that cursed tower. We did not name who left, nor do you seem surprised to know that only two now remain."

Ashara stared at the man as a long moment of silence fell over those present. Lord Glover gripped the hilt of his blade as his eyes darted from man to man. The tension in the air seemed to grow thicker with every passing moment and even Ned himself felt his hand slip to his blade.

"Lord Stark, you're asking what I can not give you." Ashara spoke softly. "I pray you leave Starfall at once." Ashara flicked her wrist and the men around them drew swords, Howland and Lord Glover pulled theirs in reply.

Ned tightened his grip on his own blade but kept it inside its scabbard. "Ashara, I beg of you."

"You have nothing to say to me, Lord Stark." Ashara Dayne rose from her table and began to take her leave.

"I know of the boy!" Ned bellowed, causing Ashara to stop and turn back to him. "It is a boy, isn't it." Ned said, pulling out the wooden wolf from a pocket.

Ashara looked at the teether and her eyes fell to the floor for a moment, before she looked back up. "Take the others out to the yard. They are not to be harmed. Leave me and Lord Stark alone."

"My Lady?" One of the men said.

"I gave you a command, now follow it." The man nodded and reached for Howland, who turned to and pointed his blade at.

"Ned, what are you on about?" Howland said, his eyes never leaving the man in front of him.

"Howland, Glover. Go to the courtyard. I shall be out shortly." Ned said, his eyes fixed upon the Lady of Starfall.

"As you command." Howland said reluctantly, putting his blade away.

"Wouldn't want to ruin these southern boys clothes now." Lord Glover jested as he pushed aside one of the men, making his way out of the hall.

After the last of the men had left the room, the large wooden doors of the hall echoed shut behind him, Ashara finally made her way to the Ladies table and started for him. As she approached, her shoes clicked against the stone floors, her dress flowing behind her. Ned soon found himself feeling the familiar longing he had often had for the Lady of Starfall. Ashamed, Ned lowered his gaze to the ground, not daring to look Ashara in her violet eyes.

"Ned," Ashara said, having stopped a few feet away. "How did you know of the child?"

"I found this," Ned said, holding up the wooden wolf Lyanna had crafted, his eyes looking upon Ashara once more. "An odd thing; I had forgotten my mother had made them until I saw it on the ground. Even then, I didn't fully realize why it had been there. However, the more I thought of it, the more it seemed to make sense."

Ashara let out a deep breath at his words. "You should return home, Lord Stark."

"And abandon the boy?" Ned frowned. "I will not. I can not."

"The boy has a claim to the very throne you overthrew so your friend could sit upon it," Ashara replied with fury. "You can not protect this boy, not while you serve Robert Baratheon."

"I can."

"How?!" Ashara replied hotly.

"I can claim him as my own."

"The boy is a Targaryen."

"He's as much as Stark as he is a Dragon. He may not have my name but has the blood. I can claim him as my own."

"My brother would sooner die than let you call Rhaegar's son a Snow," Ashara retorted. "And I would sooner die than let you kill him."

"I do not wish to harm Ser Arthur, however, I can not abandon my family so easily." Ned then bowed, tuning from the Lady of Starfall.

"Ned," Ashara called to him as he began to walk away causing the Warden of the North to stop. "Do you-" Ashara began hesitantly before looking away, seemingly ashamed.

"Yes," Ned said, his voice sharrow. "But I am now bound to Lady Stark."

The two glared at one another, their eyes locking for a brief moment. Ned wondered, ever so briefly, what could be if he were to abandon Catelyn, but quickly pushed the thought aside, it would only torture his soul if he focused on it.

"Goodbye, Ashara." Ned said at last. Turning, Ned quickly fled, not wanting to look upon the woman he loved, yet could not have.


	7. Chapter 7

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is the property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

* * *

 **A/N:** Well I'm back! I don't have much to say this time around so I won't keep you long. I just wanted to let you guys know that we hit 23K view, 300+ fallows and 200+ favs. You guys are the best! That said, here is another one for you to enjoy!

As always support the story with a follow, fav, and reveiw!

* * *

 **Arthur III**

Listening to the gossip of local taverns was usually the best way to hear news that had traveled throughout the seven Kingdoms. They had heard that the new 'king' had called House Martell and Tyrell had been called to pledge fealty to the crown. The thought of the two great houses bending the knee to the usurper wrenched Arthur's gut.

Arthur thought them cowards but knew they stood little chance against the usurper, now that Tywin Lannister had stabbed them in the back. He only hoped the lion would be skinned alive one day for his betrayal, his family cast into oblivion, just as his had tried to send the house of the dragons.

"Ill news, it's said that Lord Stark has been seen tearing through Dorne with two other men." Gerold said, seating himself across Arthur. "We should leave early; they are gaining on us."

"I feared this might happen. We are rather slowed by the prince." Arthur admitted, adjusting the boy in his arm as he looked quietly upon the knight.

"Indeed. It'd be best if we camped in the wild. However, we can't risk killing the poor child, he is still young yet."

Arthur nodded in agreement before downing another swig of ale. "I fear for the trip across the Narrow."

"The trip will last weeks," Gerold agreed. "And I have never known ships to be the best of places for children without a mother or wet nurse."

"How much do we have?" Arthur asked.

"Enough to get us to Essos," Gerold glared across the room toward a group of men who had been glaring at the party since they had entered the inn. "I don't like it here. Stark could have already put a price on our heads."

"He wants us for himself." Arthur said, downing the remainder of his drink. "He thinks we killed his kin after all. Honor will hold him to seeing out the deed himself."

Gerold nodded in agreement. "Never known the proud Eddard Stark to be one to abandon his honor."

Looking around, Arthur became uneasy as a pair of scruffy looking men glared at them. Their gazes seemed to be fixed upon Arthur, his hand slowly slipped to the dagger on his belt as he held onto Jon tighter in his arm.

"I fear I may be too well recognized here. Best we retire before someone starts asking questions." Arthur said, his eyes held fast on the men who looked away from his gaze.

"Yes, you're something of a legend in the Seven Kingdoms." Gerold snorted. "I never imagined it would do us ill, after all, many a time has it stopped a fight."

"And the others lead to a fool's end." Arthur replied, releasing his grip from his knife, though his eyes never left the men.

With that, the two men downed the remained for their ale and retired, the young prince still in Arthur's arm. Upon entering in their quarters, the men prepared a makeshift crib for Jon, out of an empty chest, they had removed the top from and lined with cloth. After seeing to the child's soiled cloth, a task that neither knight took joy in, Arthur set the prince to sleep.

The pair then traded watches over the youth, they had agreed to ensure that the prince was overseen at all times. Even now they would guard the heir to the Iron Throne, especially when he was unable to even defend himself.

The night was long, as Jon had woken more than once in the night, wailing. At times, Arthur wondered if the small boy could tell he was without his family, but up the thought aside as it hurt him to think of the loss of Rhaegar and Lyanna. It had been a long night, until finally, the first light of dawn broke in the east.

Grabbing what little they had, Gerold and Arthur left the room, Arthur, once again, holding Jon in his arms. Looking down at the child, Arthur looked into the boy's gray eyes as he babbled up at the knight, his arm stretching for the man's face.

"He's fond of you," Gerold noted as they passed through the inn, passing by the few who had come down to break bread. "I imagine he'll need someone to look up to as he grows."

"I am no Rhaegar." Arthur replied coldly in a hushed tone.

"No, but you were bid to protect the boy, and if he is to be a great man he must be taught by such a man."

Arthur remained silent, his thoughts turning to what could have been. The slender of what he would have been, he imagined he could have been among the greatest kings that had ever seated the Iron Throne. He cursed the usurper and those who followed him for what they had taken from the Seven Kingdoms. All he could hope for was that Jon would be half the man Rhaegar was, and twice the warrior.

Leaving behind the inn that they had spent the night, the two Kingsguard walked out into the dirt path that connected the small village to the main road. The village was minuscule with only a handful of buildings that stood scattered around before wilderness took back over. The largest of these buildings where the inn and stables which dwarfed everything else standing like castles among the small homesteads. This was a common occurrence of towns so close to the main roads of the Kingdoms, the towns were used for little more than stops along the way to large towns and cities, those who lived there usually worked to see to the travelers who passed though.

Making their way into the stables, they collected their mounts, paying the owner two silver stags for his service. Retreating their steeds, then Arthur started mounted his horse, packing his things into the many pouches upon his saddle. Turing his horse, Arthur led the way out of the stable, Gerold close behind. Both of them drew back their hoods and Arthur had wrapped the prince in thin dark cloth in his arms.

They soon came to the open road, both looking down the path for any sight of riders, and turned to the main road seeing none. The two turned east and began for Sunspear once more. They rode at a quicken pace, for some time. They could arrive in the city by early the next day if they chose to press though the night, though they intended to make one last stop if fate permitted would permit.

Jon had been quiet in Arthur's arms for some time as they rode. The sun was now, reaching its peak as his horse trotted in the middle of the road. The country side was vast and open, with dry grass extending for miles on end the river of Greenblood on their right side.

Arthur reached to into his bag, grabbing hold of his leather skin as he greedily drank. Looking down he saw Jon stir, looking up to him before he began to let out a low whine. Replacing the skin, Arthur pulled out the goat's milk they had collected that morning he kept in a black leather pouch that he had cut a hole out for Jon to suckle on. Offering the pouch, Jon began to feed on the milk, taking the substance without complaint.

"Arthur." Gerold spoke from behind, his voice void of emotion.

"What is it?" Arthur said, stopping his horse and turned to face his commanders.

That was when he saw the figure of three riders in the distance, dust flying behind their mounts as they raced across the plains of Dorne. Upon looking closer Arthur could tell the men were dressed in thick boiled leather and their steeds looked like they had been bred for war.

"Stark." Arthur cursed, spurring his horse into a sprint, Gerold taking place at his side.

"How did they find us?" Gerold asked, turning his head back to see that the men had picked up the pace of their horses as well. "Do you think your sister- "

"No, Ashara would never betray me, not even to Eddard," Arthur spoke clearly, his attention fixed upon getting as far from the Warden of the North as possible. "The gods are truly cruel."

"We must ride to Sunspear."

"We would kill the horses- "

"Fuck the horses, they won't be traveling with you to Essos."

"What do you mean? You are coming with me." Arthur said looking to the commander of the Kingsguard.

"No. The Wolf will follow you relentlessly, I must see to it that he is delayed." Gerold said looking back to the rising dust in from the pursuing Stark.

"We can make it to Sunspear, we have friends there. Don't throw your life away!" Arthur retorted.

"House Martel is bending the knee; they cannot help us now. I will give my life for at least one Targaryen," Gerold looked to his friend once more his eyes focused. "Goodbye, old friend."

Arthur watched as his friend turned his steed around and rode to meet Lord Stark in battle. He wanted to follow him, but he would not, he had to see to the Dragon that laid crying in his arm.

Arthur never looked back, never turned to watch the dual. He knew how it would end, he wasn't foolish enough to hold onto some fleeting fantasy that his commander would live. He would remember the commander of the Kingsguard for the rest of his life, and he would insure his death would not be in vein. So Arthur rode as if the Others themselves were coming.

* * *

 _ **SPECIAL THANKS TO MY AMAZING EDITOR/BETA READER**_

 **Katakana Katana**


	8. Chapter 8

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is the property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

* * *

 **A/N:** So I'm going to be honest, I have not had that much time to work on the story this month, so before some people complain about the length of this chapter, know it was MEANT to be this short. Those few individuals who have had issues with the length of chapters that are posted should know that this is something I do as a pass time, and as such is not the main focus of my day to day, as I have A LOT of class work to get done as I try to put myself through college. Thank you for your understanding.

Anyway, I won't be holding you any longer, enjoy this chapter!

* * *

 **Gerold I**

Gerold Hightower stood in the middle of the road, his sword gripped tightly in his hand. The commander of the Kingsguard had never imagined this was how he would meet his end, in the middle of Dorne's wilderness, he had always seen himself falling in some great battle, defending his king. Though he imagined it could have been worse, he would fall defending the rightful heir to the Throne, his role would be critical in seeing those he was sworn to returned to King's Landing.

It didn't take long for the three riders to meet him, the head of which stopped in the middle of the road, dismounting. Gerold instantly knew him to be Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, and traitor to his nephew's house. The other two where his bannermen who Gerold had seen before, but neither of whom he could name.

"Lord Stark." Gerold spoke, his eyes fixed upon his opponent.

"I have been looking for you two. Do you intent to delay us from reaching Ser Dayne?" Eddard questioned, his voice holding a cold edge to it.

"I must see that at least one of us makes it from your grasp."

Eddard gritted his teeth as he looked upon Gerold. The Knight gripped his blade tightly as he waited for in impending assault, but the Northman held off.

"I know what he carries with him Ser Hightower, I will not allow him to depart for Essos so easily."

Gerold narrowed his eyes. "You shall not stop him, and if you wish to do so, you'll need to kill me first."

"I do not wish harm upon him or you," Eddard pleaded. "Allow me to passage and you can walk away from here."

"Even if I did, I would either be beheaded or forced to take the black." Gerold scoffed. "No Lord Stark, I will not allow you to pass."

"So be it." Eddard spat.

Lord Stark looked angry, but determined as he drew his sword. This was followed by the other two, it would be three on one, just how Gerold liked it. There was a moment where the four men circled one another, feeling each other out. Gerold took a few paces forward pressing one of the men back only for a jab to come from his left that he was quick to deflect. From there, things started to move quickly.

In a moment's notice, the three men rushed Gerold, if he had been anyone else, things would have ended quickly, but he was a member of the Kingsguard, one of the best swords in the Seven Kingdoms. It wasn't long before the ringing of swords filled the air as the men launched attack after attack, Gerold found it was all he could do to fend off the men, cursing at the fact he had yet to find an opening to exploit that wouldn't lead to one of the other two cutting him to ribbons. This went on for some time as the knight fought to hold his ground but kept finding himself back peddling from assault after assault.

Fending off another assault, Gerold parried a blow from Eddard into the sword of one of his Bannermen. This left Gerold with only one opponent, even if temporarily. Taking the opportunity, the knight quickly riddled off a series of attacks forcing the man farther from his allies. It was brief, but Gerold saw an opening the banner man's defense and quickly took advantage of it, cutting the man at the knee causing him to double over in agony.

Gerold heard Eddard yell out to the man, but the commander would not listen. Raising his sword, he made a quick cut opening the man's neck, spilling blood everywhere. Gerold would have taken in the site, however, he knew that Stark could be upon him any moment. Turning, Gerold was instantly meet by the sharp edge of Eddard Stark's blade. The strike had been quick, leaving the knight with less than a moment to parry the blow. This quickly divulged into another bout where neither side seemed to have the advantage, however, Gerold was allowed a more offensive approach to the battle.

It was then that things started to turn against the knight, he was now pressing Stark and his bannerman to the ends of their abilities, but never the less, he was fighting against time. The effort that Gerold was forced to up into the fray was causing his body to cry out in agony, his muscles ready to fold under the pressure put on by the battle.

Gerold lifted his blade once more to block a downward blow from Lord Stark, the blade heavy and over cumbersome from his worn arm. The blow came down hard and Gerold groaned in pain, but not from Starks blade, from his Bannerman's. While the knight had been focused on the Stark, the man had plunged the point of his weapon in-between a pair of ribs sending shots of pain rippling through Gerald's spent body.

Falling to the ground, Gerold's eyes fluttered, his head spinning. The Commander of the Kingsguard's thoughts strained as blood flowed from his open wound as the world appeared to be closing in around him. His thoughts fleeing to Arthur and the Prince, hoping what little time he afforded them would grant them passage away. Hope guided him as he faintly saw lord Starks blade fall for his head, hope that one day they would return, and Seat a true king.

And so, it was that Gerold Hightower, Commander of the Kingsguard to Aerys Targaryen, passed into memory.

* * *

 _ **SPECIAL THANKS TO MY AMAZING EDITOR/BETA READER**_

 **Katakana Katana**


	9. Chapter 9

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

* * *

 **NED IV**

Looking over the bloodied and lifeless bodies of Ser Hightower and Lord Glover, Ned lamented over what how much in blood his men had paid to see him come this far. Letting out a deep breath, the Warden of the North pondered on just how much more he should have to see paid to see his nephew to back North, where he should belong. No matter how long he all he could think was how impossible the task ahead of him would be, he had never crossed blades with the likes of Arthur Dayne, but he had seen plenty who had, none had lasted long. No matter what Lord Stark did he was sure to pay even more for it.

"Lord Glover lived well. May the old gods watch over him," Ned spoke, his tone grim. Sheathing his blade, Ned turned and looked Howland in the eyes, "And may they watch over us as we finish what we started."

"Lord Stark," Howland said, his voice shallow as he gazed upon Lord Glover's planning face. Looking to his lord Howland seemed to let his anger show in his voice as his desire for vengeance seemed to rear up, "What shall we do now, my Lord."

Howland was a hard man and loyal to Ned's House to the end. He had no doubt that he would follow him to the ends of the Earth for whoever carried the direwolf banner in the name of the Warden of the North. However, he knew how close he had been to Lyanna, and while Reed may not have shown it, Stark knew he wanted to do right by her memory. Which was why Ned dreaded what he had to request of Howland now. "Howland, I can ask no more of you."

"You need not ask, I give it freely Lord Stark," Howland replied. "It is my duty as your Bannerman to see you will be done. The Starks and Reeds have spilled blood for one another for generations."

Ned nodded, knowing he would reply in such a way, but still he knew Howland could not follow him any further, he had to honor Lord Glover. He would not slight Lady Glover by leaving her husband. He had been captive in the deep dungeons of King's Landing. Lord Glover had been spared death from the Mad King when Brandon had demanded Lyanna be returned to the North and even after all that they had done to him over the course of the war he had been eager to run back into harm's way for Lyanna a second time, and it cost him his life. No, Lord Stark would not let his body rot on the side of the road for the crows.

"You have my thanks, Howland, but our duties lie on different paths now." Ned uttered as he turned in the direction of Sunspear. "I must see this through, and you must see that my we pay our debt to the Glovers by seeing their now late lord's bones home where they belong."

Howland was silent for a long moment as, it was obvious that he knew that Ned was right, and yet the young Lord of Greywater Watch wanted to follow his friend headfirst into a fight with Ser Dayne. After a long moment of silence, Howland finally agreed with his lord and removed a Lord Glovers bedroll from the satchel of his mount along with some twine. Using the two, Howland set out pairing the body as best he could until he could find a more suitable arrangement for moving the body.

Ned watched as Howland lofted the body of Lord Glover upon the Bannerman's house before climbing atop his own. The two looked at one another, Ned knowing that he would likely not return if it came to crossing blades with Arthur, but none the less he would not relent now.

"Howland, should I not return," Ned trailed off for a moment at the thought of what his death would mean to his House. "Lord Karstark will rule till a time as which Robb is old enough."

"I will look for a raven when I reach King's Landing, my Lord."

With a nod, Ned himself atop his steed grabbed ahold of the reigns and dug his stirrups into the creature's sides, commanding it forth. Ned rode hard, giving not so much of a glance back as he pressed onto Sunspear. The riding of the past several days had already chafed away much of the sick around his thighs, and he could feel the scabs that had formed peel as he rocked back and forth to the horse's strides, his legs bleeding as his skin cracked. Though the pain was merely a minor annoyance now, his mind was elsewhere.

The thought of crossing blades with the likes of Arthur Dayne occupied his mind. While Ned was certainly no craven, he dreaded the prospect of fighting such a man in earnest. However, if it came to that, he would certainly lay down his life to see his nephew back to Winterfell. Though Ned hoped he could talk some sense into Ashara's brother, get him to see that the boy belonged to his family in addition to assuring him that he would not be harmed for his part in what happened to Lyanna. He would convince Robert as much if necessary. After several hours of hard riding, Ned, at last, could see the capital of the most southern kingdom of Westeros, and it truly was a remarkable sight.

The capital of Dorne, Sunspear, sat perched next to Narrow Sea with a plethora of starches hugging the outermost wall of the three walls and the Threefold Gate, known only as the Shadow City. Sunspear was impressive in terms of its sheer size, but Lord Stark did not find it to his liking. Unlike the structures of the other six kingdoms, Sunspear was made almost entirely from sandstone giving it an ugly, dun color to it that reminded Ned only of dust. Around Sunspear there where towers that rose, pillaring up into the sky. However, two most chief towers, Spear Tower, and the great, domed Tower of the Sun loomed over the Sandship, the first home of the mantel family a long building in the shape of a dromond.

Traveling forth, Ned found himself riding into the Shadow City. It would not do the lord well to enter the city, it was best he didn't attract attention to himself as many in the Dorne had backed the Targaryen Dynast during the war.

For a moment, Ned thought of passing through the Threefold Gate and seeking assistance from the House Martell but was doubtful that they would aid Ned in his venture in stopping Ser Dayne. Besides, even if he could be assured of their support he doubted even more that the if he involved them that they would remain silent on the existence of Lyanna's son, especially with him now being the heir to House Targaryen.

Ned was happy for the late evening, as the streets lay mostly bare, save groups of loud men making for the taverns and brothels that no doubt spotted the city. Ned found Shadow City to be a labyrinth, the building packed together so tightly that he found it hard to believe a person could live as such. But beyond that, the smell of was rancid, slop and dung coated the streets once one left the main road to the gates of Sunspear.

Urging his horse ever forward, Lord stark looked about as he made his way to the port, hoping to arrive there as soon as possible. He imagined if any ship was to sail, it would have to leave soon or be forced to remain in port till the dawn broke. With a glance to the sky, Ned could guess that there was little more than two hours of daylight remained. Eager, Ned whipped his horse into a fast trot, forcing those on the narrow streets to dive out of his path as the Northern Lord passed by.

After navigating the Shadow City, Ned had, at last, arrived at the port of Sunspear. Looking out to the coast, Lord Stark could see the seemingly endless body of water that was the Narrow Sea. Dismounting his horse, the northerner fastened the reins of his steed to a steady enough post and proceeded to make the rest of his journey afoot, to do otherwise would make his obvious to any who would be looking for his arrive.

Looking around the port, the first thing Ned noted was just how quiet it was. The port was long, the planks below his feet creaking with every step, and the air was aloft with the scent of salt water and dead fish. The Port was scarcely populated, save a few drunken sailors laughing against crates as they drank their mead in peace.

All around all Ned saw still ships, docked to port for the coming night, save one at the very end of the port. The ship was by no means a dreadnought, by the looks of it would only man take two or three dozen sailors at most. Yet, it seemed to be the only ship in port whose men were running about in preparation to set sail before nightfall.

As Ned made his approach toward the ship he found his hand resting firmly upon the hilt of his blade as his eyes scanned over the men around the port. Walking up Ned spotted a man shouting orders to the men running about the ship whom he assumed to be the vessel's captain. Come up to the ramp that led aboard the ship, Lord Stark stood and glanced at the man sizing him up. The captain was an old slender man with a flat face that was cracked and wrinkled from old age or the sea, Ned couldn't tell. The man's head was shaven and glistened with sweat from even in the waning hours of the day with if falling as he moved about shouting at some poor sailor boy who had displeased him in one way or another.

After some time, the man, at last, seemed to notice Lord Stark, a spat out at his men to continue making ready the ship before he, at last, approached him. "Pardon m'lord, had I seen you sooner I'd of spoken to you sooner." The man said offering a nearly toothless smile. "What brings you to my ship, m'lord?"

"How do you know I'm high born?" Ned asked narrowing his eyes.

"I've seen more lords and ladies than I care to keep track of m'lord. You all seem to have the same air about you lot." The captain lets out a hearty laugh.

"Fair enough." Ned conceded, rubbing his hands to release some the tension that had built up there. "Your ship, may I ask where it's setting sail for?"

"Pentos of the Free Cites in Essos m'lord. However, if you're looking for passage across the Narrow I'm afraid I have little room left aboard. Though by the look of your not looking for passage there."

"No, I'm not," Ned admitted. "However, I have come looking for a man, he would have had a small babe with him and a long sword across his back."

The man scratched his chin in thought, "Sounds familiar, perhaps, but that would have been hours ago, m'lord."

Nodding Ned looked past the man toward the hold of the ship. "I wonder, would you permit me to inspect this vessel of yours."

"I would. I haven't got much time to get to sea before the night keeps me in port. I'm late as it is to set sail much longer and I'll have to stay in port for the night." The captain seemed too defensive now.

"I would commentate you for your trouble," Ned said taking a step forth but felt the captain's hand clasp down on his shoulder.

"Not another step m'lord." The man said his free hand falling to a dagger at his side. At his point, Ned looked around and noticed near everyone aboard had stopped and had been glancing at him as he stood before the captain.

"Ser Dayne is here then," Ned said more to himself, gripping his own sword tightly. For a long moment, the air seemed to be thick with tension as Ned sized up the men before him. He counted close to twenty men on the deck of the ship, the captain included, most armed with daggers and hooks. While Ned could best many of them, he thought impossible to best them all and still walk intact, let along cross blades with Arthur, if he was ever aboard this ship. Yet he seemed to be left with little choice in the matter as his honor compelled him to act.

Only a moment after Ned had made his dissection to act, the door to the cargo hold swung open, drawing the attention of all but the captain who's eyes never left Ned. Glancing over Ned saw him standing in boiled leather, a pale white longsword in his hand as the two exchanged looks at one another. "Lord Stark." Arthur offered with a nod. "Captain Barres if you would kindly free his lordship from your grasp I would be most pleased."

"You sure you want what ser? We could easily take care of him for you." The man said pulling his knife from his belt. "It would be quick."

"No," Arthur commanded. "There's little honor in that."

Nodding the Captain replaced his knife and stepped away from Ned, though his gaze never left the man as he slipped back into with the rest of his men. Ned looked up as Arthur approached his right hand holding dawn at his side. "You have you come Lord Stark? Why chase me so many leagues and spend so much blood."

"You know why." Ned frowned.

"Lyanna's death was a tragedy-"

"I've not given chase only for what happened to Lyanna." Ned abruptly interrupted. "The boy Arthur."

Ser Dayne sighed as Ned mentioned the existence of his Lyanna's child as if some faint hope had been dashed. "Are you here to see the Usurpers slaughter of the House of Dragons continues?"

"I'm here to see he is with his family. The boy belongs in the north, with his family."

"And how will you protect him? Hm?" Arthur said his voice laced with anger. "Would you have a Targaryen raised in your halls? The Usurper would march on Winterfell just to see another Targaryen head laid before his feet. Already he's shown he has no qualms with having children murdered." Ned felt his eyes drop as he recalled the bodies of Rhaegar's children before his feet, the rumors of how the Mountain had ended them came flooding back to him. "No Lord Stark, the prince is not safe in the halls of the North."

"I would call him my own. Robert would accept him if he were Snow and not Targaryen."

Arthur narrowed his eyes seemingly more insulted than ever before. "The heir to the Iron Throne and House Targaryen paraded around the Seven Kingdoms as a highborn bastard? I'd sooner cast Dawn into the sea than allow that." Arthur lifted his blade in a defensive stance as he eyed Ned. "I will give you this one chance, walk away Lord Stark."

Ned sighed as he drew his own sword. "I cannot, not without my family."

Arthur nodded. "Captain Barres, should Lord Stark happen to best me, you're to cause him no harm. Do not think of interfering."

With that the two began to circle one another, feeling out each other. Ned sent forward a few quick strikes at Sword of the Morning probing to test his opponent, both being parried without a thought on his opponents. Taking a deep breath, Ned thrust his sword forward, now ready to fight in earnest. The move, while quick, was easily parried by Ser Dayne who quickly rebutted the move with a strike of his own. With a turn of his wrist, Ned quickly smacked the cut away, but that was followed quickly by a second. Soon Ned found himself peddling back, blocking more often than taking sticks. Ned felt sweat flowing from his brow as he avoided cut after cut, though he felt that it would only be a matter of time before a strike landed if he didn't start pressing the offensive.

Hitting aside another thrust aimed at his chest, Lord Stark, at last, seemed to find an opening in The Sword of the Morning's defense and took the opportunity to send his blade flying at the man's left side; and yet all his blade found was the salty air. Ser Dayne had used the momentum of Ned parry and easily averted the strike, however, the lord wasn't quite as luck with the stick that came in reply. Ned let out a breathy gasped of pain as he felt the cold hard edge of Dawn run down his left arm, blood flowing as he lost all feeling in his extremity. Not a moment later a sharp pain came from his back as Arthur Dayne used the long sword as a bludgeon, smacking the flat of the blade there, forcing him to his knees.

Ned felt his head grow cold, as sweat pour down his face as he looked down at the planks of the deck his hand gripping at his wound. Grimacing, Ned felt the sharp tip of Dayne's weapon press on the back of his neck, drawing blood at its touch. "You fought well Lord Stark. Better than most." Dayne commended him. "But the day is mine."

"How will you survive? You're only one man you alone cannot raise a child." Ned spat, though his eyes remained on the floor.

"Even in this darkest of hours, there are those who support the Targaryen's. This ship for example, though I will not tell you who it belongs, they indeed want to see Rhaegar's heir take his birthright." Arthur informed Ned. "While I was home, do you think I and Ser Hightower didn't send ravens?"

"I see." Ned sucked in a deep breath. "Kill me and be done with it then."

Then something Ned didn't expect happened, he felt the Dawn lift from the back of his neck and the sound of the sword's metal pressing into the plank behind him. Turing Ned looked back at Ser Dayne who looked down on his with a frown. "You'll not die today Lord Stark. I've little to gain by killing you now." Arthur then looked to one of the sailors and nodded to Ned's weapon. "Take his sword."

"Why let me live?" Ned asked, baffled.

"I've seen enough Stark blood spilled for one lifetime. If I kill you here there's little chance the North will forget it, and with your wife's place as the daughter of House Tully would pit both the North and the Riverlands firmly against Rhaegar and Lyanna's son in the war to come." Arthur looked to the sea. "I don't think you'll be with us, but it's better to fight the devil you know. Until then I suppose." Arthur motioned to a few of the men who ran over and pulled Ned to his feet.

Ned didn't struggle as the men tossed him from the ship back to the docks, pulling the platform that connected the two aboard. Ned looked onward, his face cold from the loss of blood, yet his blood was still thick with adrenaline so he'd yet to truly feel the pain that was sure to ravage his body in the nearing future. Stumbling to his feet Ned watched as the vessel began to drift as the men worked on pulling open the sail. Looking out, Ned felt his mind drift to one burning question that he yelled out as before the ship would leave his site forever, "What'd she name him?"

Arthur looked back to him with a smirk before calling back. "Jon, Jon Targaryen."

Nodding, Ned watched as the ship sailed away, his hopes to save his nephew from the life Ser Dayne would set him upon had been crushed. Yet, faintly he wondered how it would lead to. Would he one day fight his own blood on a battlefield, defending what he'd won for Robert, or would he never see the boy again? Whatever happened he hoped the boy would survive to seen manhood, not for his sake, but for his sisters.

With that, Lord Stark carried himself back to his horse, and ventured for the Threefold Gate, if he was now feeling the backlash of his fight and was in desperate need of a master.

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 **A/N:** _Apologies for the long delay, I've at last gotten over my writer's block, and managed to find the time to write this chapter for you all. I was eager to get this one to you guys, so I hope you'll forgive the delay._

 _Now, I'd liked to answer some questions from reviews, this is something I'll be getting into the habit of. If anyone wants to know why I wrote what I wrote, or has any general questions to ask, I'd love to get back to you in a reply at the end to the next chapter. So without delay..._

 _This is the end of the first Arc in this fic. The Next Arc is nearly done with the storyboard stage, so I'll try to have a chapter up sometime next month when I'm less hammered with class, I plan to board for longer chapters, this arc had shorter lengths due to the makeup of each part. Also, the next Arc will be the last one that takes place before the Events of AGOT._

 _Q: Why did Eddard and his trio dismount their horses to fight Hightower? They are too smart and seasoned to give up their advantage. They could have cut him down from above. Either that or they should have ridden right past him to rescue his family._

 _A: Eddard Stark isn't the kind of man to just lop off someone's head like that, I just can't see it in his character. While sure, he could have ridden past Hightower, what would just lead to him being chased down by someone else. It's not like that would have been any more helpful to his cause. You can argue I guess that they should have all just fought on horseback, but I liked it more like this for story telling purposes._

 _Q: I'm assuming you'll have Aegon (or would it be fAegon in this story?) as well? I wonder whose word will have more weight, Arthur Dayne's or Jon Connington's?_

 _A: Perhaps, perhaps not. If he does, he won't play that major of a role._

 _Q: I hope it will not end with Arthur fleeing to Essos with Jon without at least Eddard Stark having chance to somehow negotiate with that bullheaded Arthur Dayne and convince him either not to go to Essos with Jon or at least secure better conditions for both little Jon and Arthur Dayne as if he flees to Essos in state in which he is now what kind of home can he provide for Jon, going from city to city ? How is that any way to raise a child? And what of endless days and nights of traveling from place to place and inn to inn?_

 _A: Ser Dayne, as alluded to here, was a member of the Kingsguard and belonged to a royal house in Dorne. Much like the other Targaryen children, Jon has many who would love to see him back in charge in Westeros. I look at it like this, Jon is a baby, Arthur is respected in Dorne, and the Dornish in the books and TV show HATE Robert and the Lannisters for what happened to Elia and her children. It's not unlikely that they would funnel funds to Arthur Dayne to see that Jon makes it back. Just how I see it._

 _S: I hope this fix doesn't become one with Jon being sent to Essos, I would like for the story to end with Arthur failing to reach the ship and Edward catches them._

 _R: Jon won't be stuck across the narrow like Dany. No real point in him being there. Essos is more of Dany's playground, I'll be writing POV chapters for her there, but Jon's fate isn't to sit around and play breaker of chains. I've already decided against that._

 _ **UPDATE:**_

The blade that was taken was not ICE, it's just a regular sword. Ned didn't ride south with it. Lots of people have been asking, so I'll clear up the confusion.

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 _ **Rough edited Version**_

 _ **Edited VR pending within the week**_


	10. Chapter 10

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is the property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

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 **JON I**

The mid-afternoon heat had set in. With the sun baring down upon the free cities of Pentos. Jon Targaryen gazed from the rooftop across the narrow sea to the horizon, toward the distant lands of Westeros, a continent he'd no memory of. Turning away, Jon looked over the gardens of the small estate he'd called home for most his life. It was a modest building, outdone by most of the homes of the wealthy merchants of the city, but it had provided him a life of relative comfort. Feeling a soft wind from the sea, Jon closed his eyes. The young dragon let the wind kiss his face and the smell of the salty waters wash over him. The air was cool and it felt good against his skin as he stood there underneath the pergola, heavy with vines and a plethora of flowers, providing shade from the sun above.

Relaxing, the prince of ten and two tried to picture a land far to the west; the vast country and ancient castles he'd read so much about over his many hours of study. Jon could recite the names of all the great Houses of Westeros. For many years, his teacher, Maester Jervonas of Oldtown, had often confined Jon to his own quarters within the estate, forcing Jon to read the names and histories of the many houses of the Seven Kingdoms. Often it seemed a pointless task. All he'd known of Westeros was what Jervonas's books had provided, and the stories passed onto him from Arthur Dayne. "Stark, Tyrell, Aryne, Martell, Lannister, Greyjoy…" Jon would recite aloud. _Houses of a land I'm supposed to rule, yet I've ever even set foot on._

Jon looked back out to sea as he felt the urge to venture. He'd not had a chance to stretch his legs for days now, and Ser Dayne had left a fortnight before for a purpose he'd not say. Whatever the reason, it meant Jon wasn't being watched quite as closely; a rare moment he relished. While Arthur Dayne was often strict in his protection of Jon, barely letting the prince leave his sight, Jon knew the man cared for him greatly. As seen in Ser Dayne's scolding of the young Targaryen upon any news of his adventuring.

Giving into his desire, the young prince pulled himself over the railing of the rooftop. Placing his foot into the familiar footholds he'd used many times before, Jon began his descent down the side of the building. He looked around as he went, not wanting to attract the attention of the any of the men that guarded the estate he called home. Once Jon had reached a suitable point, the boy let go of the wall and allowed himself to fall into a soft bush in the expansive garden below.

Peeking out, Jon smirked as he noticed that the guards had mostly congregated under a canopy to escape the afternoon heat. The group had been laughing as they shared in bread and honey along with some mead from the cellars from the estate's own stores. Jon had learned from Arthur that the best way to ensure a man, whom you've entrusted your life with, does his duty, is to make sure his fortunes lie with you. However, Jon was eager to avoid these men and their protection for the time being, so the boy crept low past the guards. Grasping a thick vine that had grown upon the low stone wall that protected those within, Jon scaled over the top until he'd come out on the other side; the men left behind none the wiser.

Running off, Jon made his way further into the city. Slipping through familiar alleyways, Jon ventured deep into the heart, passing the many large square towers dotted about. Entering the marketplace, Jon began to navigate through the mass of people. Pulling at his purse, Jon felt inside; his fingers dancing over the silver and few gold coins within. Smirking, Jon saw a fruit stand that he fancied and quickly bought two of the crisper looking apples for several bronze bits.

Stuffing the apples into his pockets, the child prince raced onwards. Fumbling past a few people who had not been looking. All the while Jon kept a hand placed upon his purse, having lost a healthy amount once before. Even in a city as wealthy as Pentos thieves still lurked in crowds. Making down an alley, the Targaryen boy came upon the familiar site of a broad building with hot steam and smoke spewing forth into the mid-afternoon air. The building belonged to a smith named Hogarth Silverworm, a tall, strong man who'd been hammering away at steel for as long as Jon could remember.

Approaching the forge, Jon felt the heat from within lap at his face. The smell of hot metal and sweat and the sound of hammers forming steel rang out into the air. Looking inside, Jon could see men working hot metal, blazing fire, and iron glowing orange. A thin servant, who was polishing a helm and was nearest to the entrance, noticed the child prince and looked to the back of the building to call his master. Built like a mountain and bald, save the dark and lengthy braided beard upon his chin, Hogarth looked up from the hot iron and ordered another man to continue his work as he walked over to greet the boy in the tongue of Valyria.

"My apologies young master, I'd not seen you enter." The man smirked with yellowed teeth. "I cannot see your father. Am I to assume you're here alone again?" Hogarth Silverworm inquired.

"No, Hogarth, I've come to give Agartha another lesson," Jon replied. "If he's not to be kept that is." The man chuckled.

"The boy has worked a hard day, and your father pays well for his steel, so I can spare the boy a rest from the forges for a time. Though I plea you don't keep him long, the boy is beginning to make fine work." Turing, the man shouted into the shop and a boy a few years younger than Jon came forth.

Agartha was a strong boy for his age. He was approaching manhood and it showed in his physique from the toned muscles that rippled on his arms from the long hours he'd spent hammering in the hot forges. The boy had dark skin and curly brown hair that laid in a mess. Jon had met him the first time he had to accompany Arthur to the shop, after only a short while with him the two had taken a liking one another.

"The young Dayne has come for you again. Take your rest now if you wish, but tomorrow I'll expect you in the forge for the time you miss." The man nodded to the boy and he returned to his own work. Smirking, the two boys ran off for the docks as they had many a time before.

Hidden under one of the many bushes that lined the wall protecting Pentos were a pair of thick, wooden sticks. Once retrieved, the pair began to take halfhearted swings at one another. The two sent blows back and forth as they dueled along the main road leading to the port and market. A few of the fishwives shouted at the pair but eventually gave up when the two went on without a care. Swatting aside a sloppy strike, Jon gave Agartha a quick smack upon his shoulder.

"You're overextending yourself." He mocked with a grin. The older boy came back at Jon with heavier blows than before, using his strength to his advantage. However, Agartha was clumsy in his approach and Jon easily parried and sidestepped the assaults.

"You're lucky I've not been taught by a master at arms." The blacksmith apprentice said, breathless. He stepped back. "If I could hit you'd be blue for days!" Agartha chuckled.

"There lies the problem," Jon grinned. "You can't hit me." Laughing, Jon jumped back as the other swatted at him once more. The two sparred with their sticks for a fair while, killing time like it was nothing to them. However, as with everything, all good things must end.

Breathing heavy, the two looked at one another. Both were sweating as the sun shone down on them. Their time apart had afforded them both new tricks to teach, and catch the other unaware, and it left them satisfied to have shared their knowledge with each other.

Thirsting, the two returned to town, their dueling sticks in hand. Making for a watering hole, the pair pulled forth water and drank, filling their bellies with the cool water and pouring what they didn't drink over their necks to cool themselves. Resting under a tree the two lingered for some time before, at last, they decided it best Agartha returned.

So, Jon escorted Agartha back through the bustle of the city and left him at the blacksmith before slipping back to the estate he called home. Finding the footholds, Jon climbed the walls once more, coming out on the other side. Returning to his quarters he found the old Maester had all but forgotten him, which bothered the prince none. Smirking, Jon enjoyed to haven gotten away with his rebellion against the old man.

It was a ritual that Jon renewed every chance he'd gotten. Since Arthur had been away he'd venture out of the estate in the afternoon and spar with Agartha. He'd become more active with the role, teaching Agartha the same footwork he'd toiled away with under Ser Dayne. As days turned to weeks, Jon found that he was starting to become quite competent with the sparing sticks they'd used, so much so that Jon himself was beginning to feel the challenge of a real fight build inside him when he went to teach his friend. Over that time, the two began to grow closer than they had before.

"You're striking too hard," Jon warned as he blocked another blow from the older boy.

"What? Too hard? Don't tell me you're growing soft on me, m'lord!" Agartha mocked. Again, he hammered down another blow.

Smirking, Jon blocked but let the blow fall through. He stepped to the side, allowing Agartha to be bent over. Taking his chance, Jon kicked his friend as hard as he could, right in the ass, sending the smith's apprentice tumbling hard into the gravel road beside the shipyards. "I did warn you that you swing too hard."

"Piss off," Agartha replied, pulling himself to his feet. "How'd you do that?"

"Your heavy, you like to hit hard. Hammering steel makes you strong, but it doesn't make you elegant."

Agartha groaned. "You've bruised me enough for today. I'd ought to get back."

Putting aside the thick sticks, the pair marched through the streets of the city until they, at last, had returned to the main road that would lead them back to the forge. Stepping onto it, Jon heard a voice to his left, calling for the crowd to part. Turning to the noise, Jon saw a group of five riding up the street, commoners quickly moving to the sides as they road to where Jon stood. At the head of the riding party was a man clad in leather. With short, white-blond hair and a stubby beard, the supposed leader gazed out over the crowd. Alongside him rode another male but this one rather fat and hairy, dressed in fine red silk and with long, wavy, brown hair. That man spoke with another, clad in chainmail and whose face was obscured from view due to his helm. Though what really caught Jon's attention was the two behind them. Aloft a white horse was a man dressed in a gray, silk, cloak and a silver sword strapped upon his hip. The man had long, silver, hair that flowed in what little wind there was. Next to him was a sight Jon had never seen. A girl, no older than he, caught Jon's eye; her beauty evident even at her young age. Though her head was bowed to the ground, Jon still could see the fairness she carried herself with. Her long silver hair blew in the wind along with the blue silk dress that she was adorned with.

"My kin." Jon thought aloud. It was spoken under his breath and he watched the party draw near. Jon had never seen anyone of his own blood before. So, for him, it was surreal to see who he could only assume to be his aunt and uncle for the first time. Though the feeling did not last long.

Just as the party grew nearest to Jon, he felt someone press against his back, people pushing forward to try and get a look at the exiled children of the late Aerys Targaryen. Jon heard a few shouts from the crowd coming forth in Valyrian, Jon could make out the mocking cries of "Beggar King." He'd often heard the title bestowed to the exiled prince, though he'd never seen him in the flesh before now. Feeling another surge from the crowd, Jon stumbled forward into the road though he could gain his footing it appeared his friend was not so fortunate.

Jon heard the blond-haired man at the front of the procession yell to warn the son of Aerys to watch out for Agartha. The blacksmith apprentice stumbled before the horse and the astride prince pulled back far too hard on his reigns in shock. Frightened, the horse reared back onto its hind legs and threw its rider back onto the stone road with a hard thud. Dismounting, the blond-haired man grabbed the reigns of the spooked creature, calming it before attending to the fallen prince. Jon himself was so shocked at the scene that he was at a near loss for words, though he was quite aware of the laughter of many men in the now ever growing host of on-lookers. Looking for Agartha, Jon could see him lying in the street, attempting to stand only for the man in chainmail to dismount and keep him on his knees.

Jon could hear his uncle shouting in a fit of rage. He had grabbed at his head, blood seeping down upon the silk garments. Jon looked on as the man yelled out to Agartha whom was frantically looking in Jon's direction. "Who! Who dares!" the uncle prince shouted.

"Brother, it wasn't- " the sister began, but was silenced when her elder sibling rose his hand and turned on her.

"You don't want to wake the dragon, dear sister. Do not test my temper, it runs thin already!" He shouted. Seeing his sister shrink away he returned his attention to the boy who'd caused him not only fall but be humiliated as well. "And what do we have here? Filth?" Agartha tried to reply in Valyrian, in a futile attempt to explain himself, but was quieted when the prince kicked him hard in the face with his boot. "Speak the common tongue, filth, or I'll have your head!"

"Your Grace, surely this cannot be worth your time." The fat man said from his horse. "Surly this boy meant no offense to you."

"No, perhaps not, but I'll not allow an insult to myself stand without punishment. They laugh, I'll show them I'm not to be laughed at." The prince smirked. "Ser Jorah, give him your sword, so I can show them what happens when one insults the Dragon."

"Viserys, surely- "

"Your sword!" Viserys shouted, face growing red.

Seeing what was about to occur, Jon began forward but was stopped when he felt a hand from the crowd reach out and grab at him. Turning, Jon saw the face of one of the guards of his household, and behind him came hobbling his teacher; Maester Jervonas dressed in his brown robes, his white hair shining in the sun. "My Lord, we've been in the streets for hours now." The man said to Jon before looking past him into the street. "This is not a safe place to be, come we must hurry away." The man nodded to the guard.

"No!" Jon replied. "He's going to kill him!" Trying to yank his arm free from the man, the guard seemed to have seen it coming and clenched down hard on the younger male's wrist, causing Jon a formidable amount of pain.

"I've been charged with overseeing your safety by Ar- I mean, your father," the old man caught himself. "The safety of some poor son of a smith it of no concern of mine."

Jon pulled hard against his guard's grip once more, trying to break free, but with as much success as before. "He's my friend! What am I if I cannot protect those closest to me?!"

"Enough!" the old Maester replied. "I'll not fail in my duties, if I've known how these sorts of things end its best you not involve yourself. You'll become talked about, and that is the last thing your father would want. Now come." The man turned and began to walk away, Jon being dragged away in the strong grip of his guard.

Struggling, Jon looked back, shouting to Agartha. The apprentice had a sword in his hand and Jon watched, while being dragged away, as Prince Viserys fought him. For a few moments, Jon thought his few lessons with his friend might let him live, but it was not to be. Jon watched, his shouts lost in the cries of the crowd, as Viserys cut Agartha's throat open. Jon cried out, but the crowd cheered, it seemed they found the whole ordeal entertaining. Jon soon lost sight of his friend, the last thing he saw was the red pouring out onto the road.

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 **A/N:** _I'm back with another chapter for you guys! I feel Like it's been too long and I'm sorry for that. It's been so nice to get this written up and pushed out to you guys! More content will be coming soon I've already gotten a page of the next chapter done so watch out for that!_

 _Now I'll get onto answering your questions and reply to reviews!_

 _Q: Robert would kill him and he could very well be a threat to his friend's claim to the Iron Throne if he were to live. So, Ned is more worried about Robert's claim to the throne than anything?_

 _A: Ned was more worried about what he feared his nephew could become as a Targaryen. If you look at it like this, Ned wants to protect his nephew but if he returns to the Seven Kingdoms with an army and starts a war could he justify standing aside? He'd never know him, not really, it'd be a hard situation for Ned to deal with if it comes to that. Ned mostly wanted to protect the memory of his sister at this point, he's no connection to Jon all he knew was it was his family and he'd try his hardest to take him home, even though he failed in the end._

 _Q: Will Jon and Ghost ever meet? Also, can we expect to see Blackfyre and/or Darksister later in the story?_

 _A: Jon and Ghost will meet, the direwolves will play a role in the story. As for Blackfrye and Darksister... I'll say they will be involved in the story. Darksister less so because according to everything we know in the books it's probably beyond the wall with the Three-Eyed Raven._

 _S: Ned, you know that your friend is now a man you can not respect. When the news of Jon Targaryen is heard, you will see the reaction of Robert and you will know that you must move away from him._

 _Because he will try to kill the only memory left by Lyanna, you are a Stark you must protect the pack. The north must support Jon Targaryen, it is his right to be the king of the 7 kingdoms._

 _R: Well, that's not exactly straight forward. If Jon is to fight Robert (Won't say if that's whom his enemy will be or not) then Ned will probably linger on the sidelines like House Arryn did in the war of the Five Kings in Cannon. Yes, Jon is half Stark, but he'll have been more removed from him than in the books. Ned would probably try and stop a war but if one were to occur under Robert he'd be hard pressed to Join the man he made King and the most he could do is not ride to war._

 _Q: So, is Ned still under the impression that Lyanna was kidnapped? Just re your author's note, I hope this doesn't become a Jon/Daenerys pairing, I hate that ship. And don't let Arthur be killed! He needs to grow old and die naturally many years after Jon is crowned._

 _A: I've already planned whom Jon marry, but I won't say whether or not it will be Dany or any case, things won't be done out of Love in his case, he's a bachelor and needs support so his marriage when it occurs will be for purely political reasons._

 _Q: "_ However, if it came to that, he would certainly lay down his life to see his nephew back to Winterfell" _Then, how would Jon get back to Winterfell Ned? If you're dead, who's going to take him? Do you think that Arthur would suddenly decide that Jon would be better off in the North? Ned had a thought that he may meet Jon on the battlefield - would he really support Robert over Jon, his own sister's son, who is the rightful heir to the Kingdom? Did not expect that!_

 _A: This is him saying he would die to try, not that he would do it after dying... As for the battlefield thing, he's worried it might come to that. Ned doesn't know what he'd do, he might just avoid entering any war with Jon and Robert though he'd never march against his friend._

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 **Special thanks to BlackFruity**

 **for beta reading and helping edit this chapter**


	11. Chapter 11

**JON CONNINGTON I**

The Titan of Bravos, a massive statue that guards the passage into the city beyond. The legs of the guardian were made from the same black granite of the islands upon which it stood though, above the waist, the colossus was made of bronze. Though what was most striking was that the eyes of the titan were made of two massive fires that were feed from those stationed within. It was said that the titan made any unwanted entrance into the city near impossible, and Jon Connington had been inclined to believe it.

It was a cool morning, one of the few he'd experienced while in Bravos. Jon Connington looked out to the sea and beyond. He seethed as he thought about who ruled their now and the memory of bells rang in his mind. It had been years since the Battle of the Bells and yet it haunted him as if it had happened that same day. _I could have ended it. I could have fucking ended it right then and there. Bloody fool, bloody fucking fool._

"Magnificent city," Turing his head Jon saw his old friend had at last arrived. It had been a few long years since he'd last met with Arthur, and the man looked the same as ever. The knight was dressed in a red tunic with a mail shirt underneath and Dawn slung across his back.

"Yes, it is," Jon replied plainly. "Though I'd take the Roost over it any day."

"I sometimes find myself dreaming of Starfall in the night," Arthur admitted. "Essos has its charms but it is not home."

"Isn't that the fucking truth," Jon said looking away from the sea at last as he turned and faced his friend. "How is the prince?"

Arthur sighed. "The boy is a handful and reckless at times. He seems to want to explore, I've found him wonder into the city on his own, and he never grows tired of sparring."

"Sounds like he's a mischievous boy," Jon smirked. "Though it may be good he's that way, he'll fight in wars when he's older, and war it nothing but trouble, best he learns how to deal with it now."

"I suppose you're right."

"You suppose?" Jon couldn't help laughing. "I don't suppose, I know. I've seen boys pampered by their lord father's shit themselves in battle, most don't last long that or they run like the craven they were raised to be. No, it's good he's a little rough around the edges Dayne, it will keep him alive one day."

Jon rubbed his thigh as he though. The pain from where he'd taken a long sword cut ached and the scar that had formed throbbed as a constant reminder of the reason he'd written urgently to Arthur. Narrowing his gaze Jon decided it was best to put aside the small talk and get onto business. "I suppose you'll be wondering why I brought you all the way out here."

Arthur nodded. "I can assume it's not just to catch up."

"No, though I wish it were." Jon paused for a long moment, the air seemed to grow ripe with tension and he didn't like the taste of it. "The Golden Company's rejected my proposal. It's funny, I'd hoped to harbor Aegon with them before he…" Jon trailed off. "Before he died."

Jon nodded. The news that the boy had made it to Essos alive, snuck away from King's Landing by the Spider, Varys. Jon had ridden to meet with him upon hearing the news, however, when he met the Spider he was handed a coffin. The boy was laid to rest in a Tempt of the faith of the Seven in Bravos in an unmarked grave. It had taken what little gold Jon had had at the time, but he'd not let the first son of Rhaegar be buried in some unmarked grave in the middle of Essos, he feared he'd be haunted by the ghost of his friend for the rest of his life if he allowed that. After that Jon Joined the Golden Company serving within the ranks of Harry Strickland's sellsword army. He marched with them for many years before he learned of Arthur Dayne's survival and with it the news of the existence of the prince's second son and now heir.

Arthur seemed disheartened at the refusal of the company, his eyes drooped to the ground as he let out a deep sigh. "Strickland will not aid us then. As strong as Dorne is we cannot take the seven Kingdoms with the support of one of the Kingdoms."

"What about the Starks?" Jon asked. "I know what the King Aerys did to Lord Starks father, but surely he can be persuaded to support his Nephew?"

Arthur shook his head his lips pressed into a frown. "Lord Stark tracked me across Dorne to take the prince from me, and while it's true I believe he'd try to protect his sister's son, he is loyal to a fault. No, I cannot see the Eddard Stark turning his back on the Usurper."

"So, the Golden Company will not join us, not without coin at least, which we've little of. The Iron Bank will not back us. You say the Starks can't be brought to the fold and the others that took part in the butcher of House Targaryen will never join us. The Greyjoy's would be a lost cause." Jon let loose a deep sigh. "So, that leaves Dorne and maybe House Tyrell, and knowing Mace…"

"House Tyrell could be opposed to us, especially if they have any doubts about our ability to take the Iron Throne." Arthur finished.

"Not exactly what we need. To take back the Seven Kingdoms." Jon admitted. "But Aegon the Conqueror didn't have any great houses backing him at first."

"Yes, no great Houses, just three very large Dragons," Arthur rebutted. "And we've no dragons to speak of."

"We had one once," Jon replied sadly. "But you are correct, we've little work with. But we have something that could be of great use to us." Motioning for Arthur to follow, Jon started away from the shoreline and led him back to where he'd left his horse to graze. Retrieving a long leather wrapped item he began to unravel it to show his friend the fruits of his labors. "We do have this."

Revealed within the wrapping was a sword sheathed within black hardened leather that decorated with interact patterns of bright red dragon scales that seemed to catch the light and glowed like rubies. sticking out from the sheath was the hilt of the blade whose guard was made of Valyrian Steel which was evident from the pattern of the metal. The guard of the blade was ever so slightly curved to the blade and at each end was the head of a dragon. The grip of the blade was made of some dark wood, that Connington suspected to have been of Valyrian origin had carvings of red dragons upon it and on the pommel, was a dragon swallowing a bright red ruby.

Arthur Dayne's eyes seemed to go bright upon looking at the blade. Hesitantly he reached out and lifted the weapon in his hands before drawing the blade. The sword was a hand and a half and shone brilliantly in the sun. The edge of the steel was flawless and Connington was sure with enough force behind a blow could cut lesser steels swords in half. Smirking the former Hand of the King looked at his old friend's bewilderment.

"Where… where did you get this?" Arthur asked, still half believing what was in his grip.

"When Bittersteel was defeated he took the rightful blade of our prince's house across the Narrow." Connington recited. "So here it has been, with the Golden Company for all these years."

"But you said the Golden Company refused us." Arthur retorted.

"They did," Jon admitted. "So, I decided that if they would not help us, we would help ourselves. So, I took Blackfyre from right under their noses."

Jon frowned as soon as he saw the look on Ser Dayen's face, it was angry. Sheathing the sword Arthur thrust it back into his hands and turned marching a few meters before quickly turning on him with rage. "Have you any idea of what you've done?"

"I've retrieved what is the birthright of the heir to House Targaryen!" Connington replied hotly.

"Yes, but now the whole of the Golden Company will be after us, and by extension Jon!" Arthur yelled over a wave crashed against the shoreline. "Is a sword with an enemy like them?"

Connington narrowed his gaze. "Would Dawn be worth and enemy like them to you?" Arthur seemed to recoil at that. Reaching behind his back the knight touched the sword there. Seeing he'd caught his friend off guard for a moment, Connington continued. "It's not just a weapon, it's a symbol. Aegon wielded this sword when he made his kingdom, and so shall Jon when he makes it anew. And so, it will be a symbol for all to know him as the King of all of Westeros."

Arthur gazed upon the stone covered ground as he thought. "What is a symbol if we're running from Harry Strickland and his company?"

Connington smiled at last. "It isn't, which is why you cannot remain here my friend."

"We cannot return to Westeros, not yet."

"If not now then when?"

"We need more support than what we have now," Arthur argued.

"Arthur, don't be a blind fool," Connington yelled. "The Golden Company will not support us, not ever. We've no gold from which to pay for an army, and no city in Essos is going to raise us an army. We cannot say here, we can't be like Rhaegar's brother and wonder this god forsaken content begging for someone to just hand Jon a fucking crown!"

"What would you have me do then? Return to Dorne and try to convince House Martell to take on the Usurper alone? It would be utter madness."

"Yes, it would." Connington agreed. "We, however, do have the Spider on our side, and if we play our cards right we could see our Prince sitting on the throne."

Arthur thought on this for a moment before replying. "And what of Jon?"

Connington laughed. "The boy looks like a fucking Stark; the last thing people would suspect is him to be the son of Rhaegar. Hide his name, and let him get to know the land he'll rule," Jon sighed. "Otherwise he might not be accepted by the Lords of Westeros."

Arthur nodded. "I've much to think on." He replied turning and began to walk back down the path. "Come Lord Connington, I think it's about time we returned to Pentos."

Wrapping Blackfyre back into its leather role, Connington climbed aboard his stead and followed his friend closely behind. Together, the two began down the road south for Pentos, the pair riding with great haste taking little brakes. The Arthur had at first suggested they take a ship to Pentos, however, Connington had suspected that the Golden Company would be looking for him and that it was easier to avoid any pressures on land rather than the pirate lords of the Narrow Sea.

After many days of traveling the pair stood sat in on their bedrolls, the with the night fast approaching. The night was warm and the two ate their bread with a low fire lit before them. Opening his wineskin, Lord Connington took a long drink before offering the vessel to Arthur who took it gratefully. Staring into the dim fire, the old warrior found himself thinking about Rhaegar, he missed the prince and had felt reasonable for his death. Bells, nothing but bells. Shaking his head, Jon looked south and felt somewhat hopeful then.

"Why Jon?" Connington asked quietly.

"What?" Arthur replied looking up.

"Why was the boy named Jon?" Arthur asked.

Arthur looked to the sky. "He'd hoped to have a second daughter, to complete his three-headed dragon. He wished to name her Visenya after the queen sister of Aegon the Conqueror, but if he had by chance had a boy, he said he'd decided to name him Jon, after the Lord of Griffin's Roost." Jon saw his friend smirk.

Jon felt sour, he deserved no such honor, he'd done Rhaegar wrong in his loss at the Battle of the Bells, the last thing he should have done was name a son after him. "He shouldn't have done that, I wasn't worthy of such an honor."

"You're far too hard on yourself. Aerys did the realm no service in exiling you. After the war, he wanted to lift your exile you know." Arthur sighed. "We wanted to do a lot after the bloody war, but the gods were cruel to Rhaegar in the end."

Jon looked to the south once more. "We may still have a chance to make things right." Jon looked westward. "This next war will be my last." He whispered to himself. _Jon of the House Targaryen… I will not fail your family again._

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Well I'm done with college so you'll be happy to hear I have more free time than normal! So look out for chapters to roll out faster in the next few months here as I plow through it again! Also, the new season of HBO's Game of Thrones is closing in, so I'll be even more inspired to churn out content. Anywho, onto questions._

 _Q: Should have at least gave him targaryen features if your gonna make not go to winterfell. I don't see the point of lya naming her son after someone who led the charge against her "lover"._

 _A: Genes don't work like that... however, the point of Jon not having any Targaryen features is an important part of the story, you'll understand what this means later._

 _Q: It would be cool if Jon manages to get both Blackfyre and Dark Sister and dual wields them like good ol' uncle Dayne~_

 _A: Dark Sister is with Bloodraven (the Three-eyed Crow) so don't keep your hopes up. As for Blackfyre you'll see that put into play._

 _Q: Fuck who doesn't want this to be a Jon/Dany story. Why should others suffer because of your wants. Writer continue how you feel. Great story so far!_

 _A: Well, I've already written the storyboard for the whole story (different from writing chapters) so the "pairing" is already set in place so no worries on reviewers trying to get me to sail their ships_.


	12. Chapter 12

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is the property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

* * *

 **JON II**

The afternoon heat had reached its peak as the thwack of steel against wood echoed through the training yard of the Estate of Arthur Dayne. Sweat rolled down the face of the youth as he unleashed his ferrying into the splintered dummy before him and like his sword, it has begun to fall apart much like the three that had proceeded it. While Jon found some minor release in shattering these unmoving opponents, he found that it only stayed the rage for enough time for his arm to recover before he returned to hack upon yet another block. Jon had thought of nothing but the sight of Agartha's blood flowing in the street, and of course, there had been no justice for his uncle's crime, no revenge for his act of brutality. _I'll gut him! I'll cut him in two!_ Jon thought as his emotions seemed to grow with the heat of the day.

With a quick cut, Jon's sword bit into the training dummy with a great thud that caused the wood splinter as chunks flew into the everywhere. With heavy breaths, Jon looked down at the blade in his hand seeing that he'd been torturing the edge which was now bent and quickly dulling in most places. His blood still boiling Jon flung the weapon to the gowned and stormed from the training yard his steps heavy against the ground as he marched away. As he left Jon saw that one of the estates guards had followed to watch him go, something he'd been forced to deal with as of late.

After he had been forcibly dragged back to the Estate, Jon had attempted to leave the for the city to search for his uncle the very same night of Agartha's death. However, it seemed Maester Jervonas had expected this and had the estate's guards posted both outside his door and along the walls, and for all of Jon's efforts to leave he had quickly been caught before being confined his quarters. After this, the old Maester ordered Amar Kostōba, head of the estate's guard to accompany Jon at all times of the day. Jon liked Amar, the head of the estate guard was a large man whose brown sun kissed skin shone in the sunlight nearly as bright as the mail shirt on his chest. Jon had also noted the affinity the man had for oils that he'd often rubbed upon his skin which gave a pungent sent about the man.

After the death of Agartha, Maester Jervonas had hoped that after a few days the young prince's temper would cool, however, Jon's could only feel his rage be stocked further as he dwelled upon the thought of cold steel cutting down his friend. Walking through the halls of the estate Jon came to his quarters where he left Amar at the door when the man posted himself on guard. Crossing the room thin moderately sized room, Jon came to the portal that led to his balcony that was obstructed by thick red drapes that he pulled open sending what dust had settled there pouring into the room. Stepping out into the mid-afternoon air, Jon gazed down to the garden below and saw the two guards posted below the balcony, no doubt placed there by Jervonas to prevent him from sneaking out.

Jon felt his face turn sour and he couldn't help but feel that he was now little more than a prisoner. Walking back into this the room Jon came to his desk and sat down in his chair which groaned as he sat. Looking over the stack of books that laid before him, Jon leaned back in his chair groaning as his muscles ached in pain from his time in the yard. Shifted his body until at last, he found some level of comfort in the old wooden seat, Jon looked over the pile of books until something caught his eye. Picking up the leather-bound cover Jon looked upon the book with a level of familiarity, the book was of black and heavy the pages faded from the year, but he knew it well, _The Dance of the Dragons._ Opening the pages Jon began to pour over the history of the great civil war of his ancestors that lead to the end of Dragons, and in the opinion of many marked the decline of his House. The Dance had nearly destroyed House Targaryen and threatened to tear apart the rest of Westeros in the process. As he read, Jon couldn't help but see the parallels to Aegon II and his Uncle, the Beggar King, and for what seemed like the first time, Jon thought of the Iron Throne.

Jon knew that if he was to ever climb the steps and to upon the Iron Throne which was made from the swords of Aegon the Conquer's enemies that were forged in dragon fire he would one day be forced to reconcile his uncle Viserys's claim to Westeros. However, Jon could not find it within himself to find forgiveness for Viserys and deep down he knew wanted him dead. Wither now or in the future, if Jon was to ever to cement his claim upon what was rightfully his, the prince could not allow Viserys live so long as he maintained that the throne was his by right, he couldn't allow a second Dance to occur. Thinking on it, even if Viserys never found his way to the shores of Westeros Jon thought that if he was ever to sire a son they could one day attempt what the Beggar King couldn't. The more Jon contemplated it, the more he realized his need to be rid of Viserys and the more he felt his need to repay the debt of Agartha's death tugged at him.

Walking to a chest at the foot of his bed Jon opened the wooden box and peered inside to find a mail shirt and a cold steel sword held in a leather sheath decorated with the imprinting of dragons and swirls of fire. Taking the weapon in hand, Jon unsheathed the blade, the sword was a hand and a half and felt long in the youth's arm, Jon had, while strong for his age still found that he lacked the strength to best an elder man who had strength on his side. None the less Jon resolved to take care of his duty as a friend. Swinging the weapon around Jon seemed satisfied with how the weapon felt in his hand despite his soreness he was confident in his skill with the blade as he returned the weapon back into its sheath.

 _I will show him the meaning of pain._ Jon thought coldly as he reached back into the chest and retreated the mail shirt which he put on underneath a black tunic before making for the door, this sword hanging on his belt.

Entering the hall, Jon was greeted by Amar who was still standing on guard. Jon looked up the to where Amar's gaze met his as the guard placed his hand upon Jon's chest stopping him before he could go any further. "Young master, where do you think you're headed off to?" The man asked with offering up a polite smile, his white teeth seeming to shine shining.

"There is something I must do," Jon said as firmly as he could. "A debt that's due, and I intend to pay it back in full." Jon attempted to move forward but found the Amar's hand was like iron on his chest preventing him from moving forward.

"That old Maester of yours was very specific young master, you're to leave the estate's grounds." The man replied firmly though he never lost his polite smile, though his words were no less stern. "I'm in charge of your safety and I don't take my duties lightly. I've already been lenient enough by letting you venture into the city without stopping you, and it seems that was a mistake on my part."

Jon closed his eyes before letting out a sigh in frustration. "Kostōba, I'll not just stand here and do nothing, I cannot just do nothing!" Jon uttered heatedly.

"No, you can simmer, you can keep hitting dummies in the yard, but you cannot leave until your father has returned from his travels."

"Am I not the head of this house while he is away?" Jon asked.

Amar smirked before laughing heartily. "Young master, you think I'm one you can talk your way around? No, the Maester has been commanded by your father to oversee this Estate in his stead, now enough of this you're not some boy I need to scold. Act sensible young master."

Jon could feel himself growing tired of this deliberation. "I'm no boy, I can't afford to be anymore," Jon spoke in a low voice. "Maester Jervonas charged you with my safety did not?"

"He did."

"I watch a man kill my friend in cold blood, what am I if I can't protect those whom I've name friend?"

"You will do nothing until Arthur Dayne has returned." Amar said firmly his smile fading as he too seemed to grow impatient.

"No, I refuse in action!" Jon shouted, tired of this ridiculous debate. "I'm going, I cannot do as you say I should!"

"I cannot allow that, now enough of this." Amar narrowed his eyes. "If you want to act like a petulant child then I am more than willing to treat you as such."

Jon took in a deep breath and tried to relax though his temper still ran high. "I must do this."

Amar stood unmoved. "You can't convince me, you must wait for Master Arthur to return, bring it up with him, now I will hear no more of this."

Jon felt sour, he tempted he wanted to lash out at something, though he at last decided against it. _I am the rightful King of Westeros, I cannot sit idly by_

"Arthur Dayne is not my father." Jon said though he found the words seemed odd after having called him such for so many years.

Amar stood silent, seemingly unmoved as he reconvened quite dryly. "Then whom is your father Jon?"

"I am not of the House Dayne, I'm Jon of the House Targaryen, son of the Last Dragon Prince Rhaegar Targaryen." Jon stood straight trying to make himself stand as tall as he could. "I am the rightful Protector of the Realm."

Amar looked at Jon his face seemed cold as stone as his eyes showed not even a hint of surprise unlike the look of disbelief or some form of rebuttal Jon had expected. It was a moment before the Amar at last cracked a wide smirk as he let out a hearty laugh. "So, the young princeling has, at last, realized his true place in the world, I was told this might happen one day. If you wish to play king then so be it, young master."

This took Jon aback as he'd expected nothing less than a lengthy argument but instead Amar seemed to be accepting the news without so much as a question. "You were aware?" Jon asked puzzled.

Amar chuckled as he shook his head. "You truly are just a summer child. Young Master, I have carried that knowledge your Kingsguard first came to this city. I serve the Prince of Pentos, and the prince has always been a friend to the Dragon Kings. My prince trusts me, and so I was entrusted with protecting you on behalf of Pentos itself. That includes protecting who you really are."

After a moment Jon seemed to find it for him to accept this realization and not only that, use it to his advantage. "Then you shall let me go?"

"My duty is still to protect you, young master, even if it from yourself." Amar replied as he stood firm.

Jon could feel his teeth clench in frustration. "Viserys Targaryen, my uncle, makes a claim to the Iron Throne, I cannot just allow him to do so if I want to ensure my own claim one day. Only one can sit the Iron Throne, and if he were to ever gain an army of some kind he could cause another war between the blood of the dragons, that is the last thing my realm needs."

Amar rubbed his chin in thought. "Do you wish to speak with him, or you do you wish to just kill him?"

Jon bit his cheek. _I want his blood to flow into the street._ Though he realized such a thing would do him little good in the way of convincing Amar. "If he kneels he may live, but if he should defy me, his treason is will mean death." Jon proclaimed.

There was a long moment where the guard said nothing, seemingly contemplating the decision before him until at last Amar broke his silence. "As you command young master, I will accompany you on this matter as it is my duty to protect you with my life. However, I would suggest you move with caution, your family's usurper has many eyes and ears, even across the Narrow."

With the two headed to the stables, Amar commanded horses be saddled and for five of his most trusted men to be ready to ride out in force. Amar then left instructions for the remaining men to secure the estate and keep an eye on the old Maester while he was away. Jon watched as the men ran about dressing into mail shirts and into thick gambesons or boiled leather. Seeing Amar approach, he tossed a mail shirt to Jon who caught it in surprise.

"Put that on young master, it might keep you alive if something were to happen." The head of his guard advised.

"Why so many?" Jon asked pulling off his leather tunic as he fought to get the mail over his head before at last forcing his head though. "Do you expect a skirmish?"

"I'd like to avoid one, the Beggar King is a guest of Illyrio Mopatis one of the most powerful Magisters in all of Essos. He has in his many skilled warriors guarding him and his palace. If he supports your enemy then we could be entering the belly of the dragon."

"I see, then let us hope that it won't come to that." Jon replied heading for the stables where his horse had at least been readied for riding. Pulling himself on his stead, Jon was soon joined by Amar and his men, together, the seven men rode out into the streets with Amar at the helm and Jon close behind him.

The party road for some time, Jon was surprised to find that the Palace of Illyrio was so far from the rest of the city, and by the time they had reached the Magister's residence the sun was starting to fall low in the sky. The place was much larger than any Jon had seen in the city proper, and was so vast it had a small outer wall protecting the grounds with a fortified gatehouse bellow the rise where the palace itself laid.

The gatehouse had been shut with two guards posted out front. Seeing Jon and his men approach, the two men quickly yelled out as to unseen men who granted them entry before quickly sealing the gate behind the two. Riding up Jon saw a man peer from behind the ramparts of the gatehouse and yell out to them. "Who approaches the palace of the most honorable Magister of Pentos, Illyrio Mopatis!"

Stopping Amar spoke for the group. "I am Amar Kostōba, command of the guard of the Estate of Pentos and servant of the Prince of Pentos, I seek an audience with your honorable master, and that of the Targaryen Prince he's hosting."

The man looked closely at the group at his gate before replying. "And why, may I ask, do you come so heavily armored Amor Kostōba?"

"We come for expecting hostility on the part of the Targaryen, though we wish no harm upon the honorable Illyrio, I speak with the honor of the Prince of Pentos in these regards."

The man seemed reluctant though and spoke to one to some other man unseen behind the walls before turning back to Amar. "Very well, I shall bring your request for an abundance before my master." The man said before disappearing out of view.

After some time, the gates finally creaked open as a pair of guards stood in waiting with a man dressed in a long purple and gold garment stood waiting for them. The man's tanned head was clean shaven, with not a hair visible, he had a red line tattooed from his eye down to his neck and golden rings that hung from his ears. Smiling the man had red stained teeth from what Jon guessed to be wine. Extended his arms outward the man greeted the party.

"Welcome, welcome!" The man said in a high-pitched voice that made the man seem all the more queerer. "I am Līrinon, servant to master Illyrio. If you would be so kind as to dismount your horses I will lead you to where my master awaits your arrival."

Looking at one another the men dismounted before following the man as he led them up a long grass path up toward the palace's main entrance. The group was followed closely behind by the some of Illyrio's guards, Jon kept his hand close to his blade, but made sure to not place his hand upon it for fear he might cause unwanted conflict. Coming up the path, the group at last arrived at the front of the Palace.

Jon looked around the grounds and found that that Illyrio certainly had wealth to spear and his home showed it. The building was larger than anything he'd seen in his time in Essos, and he doubted anything less than a castle could compare to it in size, though he doubted any hold would have such fine gardens surrounding it. The building was made of limestone which had been formed into a multitude of archways in the absence of windows. All around the building hung large orange and yellow tapestries to provide shade from the hot afternoon sun though let the late afternoon breeze in to the palace. The garden itself provided plenty of shade for those below, with large green shrubs and exotic flowers and plants littering the ground.

When Līrinon at last requested the party remain just outside the main entrance just inside the garden at a circular part of the path leading to the palace. Looking around Jon counted no less than 10 guards all in black boiled leather chest plates and hide helms with long steel tipped spears with large round wooden shields and short swords at their sides. Jon had seen their kind before. "Unsullied." Jon muttered under his breath.

"Aye, Illyrio has several them who serve him. They aren't slaves, simply free bond servants. Though there is little difference when you get down to it." Jon could see Amar eyeing the men around him, their hands seemed never far from their blades.

Appearing from the palace Līrinon returned ahead of three other individuals. Jon saw the same fat man from before whom he assumed to be Illyrio, though his gaze was locked on his uncle who followed closely behind with who he assumed to be his young aunt. The Beggar King was dressed in silver silk and a short cape across his right shoulder, though Jon's eyes when to the sword on his side.

"Easy young master," Amar said in a hushed tone. "Make a wrong move here and we'll be buried in Illyrio's garden tonight."

"May I present my master Illyrio and his honored guests, Princess Daenerys and Prince Viserys Targaryen." The servant announced in the common tongue thick with his accent.

"King Visarys," Visarys hissed. "You dishonor me."

Illyrio raised a hand to his guest to calm him. "Līrinon meant no disrespect my King, Līrinon is a good man, though is less, accustom to the language of your kingdom."

Visarys seemed to be stayed by the Pentoshi though he still showed his displeasure. "Fine, I shall forgive his slight, though see to it that he learns to title me with the authority a King deserves."

Jon felt his blood start to grow hotter with every moment, Visarys was just as arrogant and prideful as ever, and it was that pride that had killed his friend, and so it would also be that very same Pride that would see him at the prince's feet. Stepping forward Jon titled his head slightly toward Illyrio before addressing him in the Magister in the language of the land. "It is an honor to meet you Illyrio, I've heard much of your prestige in Pentos."

"What did he say?" Visarys asked looking at Illyrio dumbly.

Looking back to the Begger King the merchant answered plainly. "He says it's an honor to be here."

"Only in the case of the Magister I'm afraid." Jon said in the common tongue this time, his eyes burrowing into his uncle's.

At his words, Visarys's face seemed to glow red with anger. "Who do you think you are?!" The Beggar King fumed before turning to Amar who had stepped up next to Jon. "You," Visarys's pointed at the Amar. "You're in charge of this ingrate."

"I am charged with his protection, if that is what you ask _prince_." Amar replied.

"Prince, prince!" Visarys yelled causing the girl behind him to flinch. "Did I not just make it clear that I am the King of the Seven Kingdoms you worthless foreigners!"

"You are the foreigner in this land," Jon said sternly. "As am I, and you would do best to watch your words, uncle."

At Jon's last word the yard seemed to grow still as everyone looked at Visarys whom looked at Jon dumbly before his face grew angry once more. "What did you call me?" He said with anger still rife in his words.

Looking around Jon returned his eyes to his Uncle before solidifying himself. "I am Jon of the House Targaryen the son of the Last Dragon, the Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, born to Lyanna Stark of Winterfell. I am the Prince of Dragonstone, heir of the Iron Throne and rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. You, uncle, own me your allegiance."

Visarys seemed to look as if he were growing sick for a moment before at last he grew hot once more his face red with rage. "Liar!" The Prince yelled drawing his blade causing Jon and his party to reply in kind. "You dare make such claims! I'll have your head for such blasphemies!"

"It is no blasphemy; his protector is Arthur Dayne I saw him when the Prince was just a boy was not but a babe." Amar said his sword in hand.

"The testimony of this man means nothing!"

"Uncle, your late brother is my father, I am blood of the Dragon, though if you wish to cross blades I will grant you your wish," Jon felt his heart pump faster as he stared down his Uncle. "Though I'll carve you up worse than that boy your slaughtered in the street if you don't lay down your sword before me."

"You're just a boy." Visarys spat before stepping forward. "You stand high upon your lies, I'll gladly cut you down to size."

"Brother!" came the voice of the girl behind him. "What if he's is who he- "

Visarys quickly turned on his heal and backhanded the girl so hard that she dropped to the floor. Jon could see her hands and legs had been scrapped on the rough ground and a cut had been opened upon her cheek where his had contacted her flesh. "The Dragon is well awake dear sister, and you'll pay your it once I've taken his pretenders head." Looking to Līrinon he motioned to his fallen sister. "Take her away, I'll deal with her later."

Jon felt his blood run hot once more after seeing his aunt beaten by Visarys. "I see you have little respect for even your own sister, I can see why you refuse to accept reality uncle." Jon then turned his attention to Illryio. "You have given us guest right gracious Magister, I wish you no insult, nor to spill blood, though my uncle wishes to cross steal I'd prove his unworthiness before the gods."

Illyrio seemed torn though he turned to Visarys at last. "You wish to fight this boy your grace?"

Visarys nodded. "No, I wish to water the palace gardens with his blood."

Jon was more excited than he dared admit to himself as he spread his feet apart taking his fighting stance. His uncle started to storm toward him as Amar and the rest of his guard moved a good distance back. Jon watched in surprise as Visarys over extended himself with his very first swing. Jon saw the opening, though he didn't take it instead he merely stepped to his left letting his uncle strike air. _I want to embarrass him._ Jon thought.

Turning on his heel, Visarys enraged came at Jon with a flurry of heavy blows, however, Jon found the attacks to be ill met and there was little skill behind his opponents blows. After some time, Jon at last grew tired of toying with his uncle and blocking yet another poor cut Jon stepped into his uncle and elbowed him hard in the nose causing the Beggar King to stubble back his hand going to his face. Jon could hear him rawer from behind his hand.

"I will offer you once more uncle, kneel or I will force you to a knee."

"I'll make you pay!" Visarys screamed. "The Dragon never kneels, especially not to some pretender!"

"So be it uncle." Jon said before approaching his own blood.

Swinging hard at his uncle he was glad he put up a fight even if it was a short one. After a few blocks Jon found his opening and took it. Visarys had allowed his blade to be parred too far from Jon's own blade and it had left his hand exposed. Jon Swung fast and hard catching his uncle in the hand severing the four fingers on his right hand at the knuckle causing the man to let loose a blood-curdling scream as his sword fell. Jon however had not had enough, swinging low the prince's second strike started at his uncle's groin that went all the way up his chest before at last catching his face leaving a long line across his body. Jon had been surprised at just how much damage he'd done, but he remembered his uncle had been fool enough to fight him in only his silk tunic.

Looking down on his opponent Jon watched as he screamed in pain, his silver tunic now covered in blood. Jon held his blade tight, and for the first time he saw just how bloody a real fight was. _This is the part they don't sing in the songs._ Jon said to himself.

Turning away from his uncle Jon sheathed his sword. "He can live, he's no threat to me now." Jon said aloud. "He'll wish I'd killed him."

Marching away Jon and his guard left as the yells of his uncle filled the air, and for some reason Jon felt a tic in the back of his mind. _You should have finished it, you shouldn't have shown weakness, weakness means death._ Putting his thoughts aside he walked away, back to his stead and then rode with Amar at his side back home.

* * *

 **A/N:** I've been gone for FAR too long, sorry for a long time between updates. I've kind of lacked the motivation to write since I got home. I've also had a bunch of life shit happening, so that's a thing.

Well at any rate, I'll reply to a few reviews, so here I go.

R: Adding my two pence worth to the shipping debate, I hope you don't go down a Jon/Daenerys or Jon/Arianne route. Both are terrible combinations.

A: I'll repeat that I already have a ship picked for the purpose of the story.

R: Surely Jon would have support and backing of the Iron Bank? They tend to know everything through their network of spies etc and Jon would have access to the accounts of the Targaryen's that they hold because Rhaegar would have created an account for his wife (wives) and children with them, as is typical.

A: The Iron Bank has no reason to support him yet. He only has a handful of supporters and no army or other great houses to openly support his claim at this point. The other issue for Jon at this point is the health of the realm. At this point, Robbert's reign was seen as a success (mainly due to those who ran the realm behind the senses).


	13. Chapter 13

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is the property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

* * *

 **Daenerys I**

The chamber of her elder brother was dark when Daenerys was at last allowed to see her wounded kin. Upon entering his room, Dany gagged at the smell of blood and the stench of the multitude of herbs that had been used in the hours that had passed since he'd fallen. Across the room laid her brother. Viserys had been wrapped in bandages from his groin all the way up to his face - of which only half was visible. The wrappings looked fresh and yet they still had blots of crimson blood soaking through the thick wrapping. It was a sorry state. The normally proud heir to her father's throne now seemed so frail, so weak in his cataleptic state as he slumbered from being forced to partake the milk of the poppy.

"He'll never be the same, you know." Turning, Dany saw Ser Jorah standing in the doorway looking down at her. "Wounds like that, he's lucky to be alive. Without the resources of Illyrio, Viserys would have died. The Healers of the House of Red Hands are hard to come by in Pentos. Normally you'd have to travel to Bravos to get the treatment your brother was afforded, though I still think a maester would have served him better."

"What happened to him exactly?" Dany asked as she looked over to him. "I didn't see the dual, and those Braavosi wouldn't let me see him while they tended to his wounds."

Jorah let out a deep breath. "The prince was challenged from some boy claiming to be his nephew, your brother accepted after his pride was called into question. It didn't take long before he'd lost several fingers on his hand, and then, well…" Dany looked upon the thick wrapping on her bothers chest and grimaced at the thought of the wound that was hidden under them. "He's strong. If he makes it through the night, he'll live; though he'll never be the same, not with how he was cut."

Dany felt her skin pale at the thought. "Is he…" She began, though the words seemed too unthinkable to summon.

"Viserys will never sire an heir." Jorah had admitted. The former Lord of Bear Island then placed a hand upon Dany's shoulder to try and comfort her. "He'll wake, though it will not be easy for him to hear what's happened to him."

Dany turned and looked at her brother once more before quickly pushing past Jorah, her face growing paler by the moment. " _Don't wake the dragon. Don't wake the dragon. Don't wake the dragon."_ Dany repeated to herself over and over as she retreated to her chambers to cry. Now, more than ever, she was fearful of what would happen to her. No doubt, her brother would release his anger - at the loss, he had taken and the wound he now showed for it - upon her. _"Don't wake the dragon."_

As the days passed, Viserys remained subdued in his slumber, sustained only by the mixture of honey and milk that the healers forced him to swallow as every time they had woken him Viserys would cry out in pain. Walking the halls of Illyrio Palace, Dany had grown impatient with herself. Marching toward Illyrio's solar, Dany climbed a flight of stairs to reach the highest point of the palace and was met by a pair of guards just outside the Door of Illyrio's place of work. Both men were intimidating by themselves, both dressed in black leather vests and helms that concealed their faces. Each man stood with a short sword on their belts, though Dany had more often seen these men with long spears, she supposed it would be unwise to keep such a weapon in such tight quarters.

"Sorry, Master Illyrio busy now." The man to Dany's left said in a broken attempt at the common tongue.

"I must speak with Illyrio," Dany said trying to push past the two men, but the other man to her right simply stepped in front of the doorway and placed a hand upon his weapon. Stepping back, Dany felt a tingle of fear inside her as she looked at the hilt of the blade in the man's hand. "I-I must speak with him about what happened to my brother, could you speak to him for me."

Dany could see the man narrow his eyes from behind his helm, but eventually nodded. The man who had spoken to her first opened the door and walked inside. Dany could see the man bowing low before the portal closed behind him. After a few moments, the door reopened and both men retook their places alongside the door. Tilting his head, Dany took it to mean that she should enter. Walking past the men, Dany watched them closely as she pushed open the door and entered Illyrio's Solar.

Once inside, Dany could see the vastness of the room. It was long, with furnishings filling the space. There were only three walls to the room and - in place of the fourth - a vast opening that led to the long balcony of the solar. Across the room sat the bronze-skinned man, his forked beard as distinct as ever. Looking up from his desk, the elder man offered a slight smirk from the corner of his lips and with a wave of his hand, the guards at the shut the door behind Dany, leaving her to stand alone with the Pentoshi magister.

"My lady, I wasn't expecting you. I thought you'd still be by your brother's bedside."

"I was, through the healers inform me that the worst has passed. Viserys will pull through, he's a dragon after all."

"Of course," Illryio said somewhat dismissively, "but he'll never be the same as he was before the… incident."

"He's King by right." Dany blustered out, a habit she'd formed whenever she thought someone might challenge her brother's right.

"I wonder about that. This boy who fought your brother, he claims to be your brother Rheagar's true-born son. If it were true then, well, he would be the next in the line for the Iron Throne."

"But it cannot be," Dany replied. "Rheagar only had two children, Aegon and Rhaenys."

"That the realm knew about, yes; but I have heard a strange whisper from a friend of mine in Westeros that Arthur Dayne - shortly after the death of Prince Rheagar - was seen with the Lord Commander Gerold Hightower, riding with great hast to the city of Sunspear. If the rumors are true, Ser Arthur was seen with a child wrapped in his arms."

"Arthur Dayne is craven, he refused my brothers call once he reached Essos, was it because… because of this child?" Dany asked.

"I went to see the Prince of Pentos while you labored at your brother's sickbed, he did indeed confide to me that Arthur Dayne told him the child was the son of your late brother. I'd wondered why he never let me in on his little secret; apparently, Ser Dayne believed I was not to be trusted." Illryio scoffed at that. "I have little reason to believe that the prince lied to me about the story. Arthur Dayne told him - the man knows who puts coin in his purse, though I pray he'll have learned never to bite the hand the feeds him again less my patience run thin. At any rate, he says that he was told by the knight that this, Jon _Targaryen_ , was the product of Rheagar and Lyanna Stark."

"That girl that was the cause of the war?"

"The same one." Illryio nodded. "It would, at least, seem that the boy is, in fact, the son of Rheagar."

"So, then, he is, in fact, the heir to the Throne?" Dany could feel her palms sweat as she imagined the rage of her brother once he heard this news.

"No, he cannot. Your brother was already wed to Elia Martell, as I recall. While Arthur Dayne does claim that they were wed before the birth of this Jon, I've seen nor heard any proof of such claims and, more importantly, neither as my friend. Most of the realm claims that Lyanna Stark was raped against her will, as unsightly as that maybe, it seems the most likely event. The only one to have claimed to have seen a union of marriage between the two is Ser Dayne himself."

"So, you believe him to be a bastard?" Dany asked hopefully, the thought of her brother's relief becoming her own.

"My friend in Westeros seems to believe so and he is rarely wrong in matters of this nature." Illryio stood from his desk and approached Dany, placing his hands upon her shoulders. "It is not the first time that bastard boys born from your family's greatness have challenged your family's legacy. Just as the Blackfyres failed, so shall this pretender."

Dany nodded in relief. "Good, my brother will be pleased to hear this when he finally wakes." Turning, Dany started for the door before a thought came to her. "Where is this impostor now?"

"Ah, yes. I meant to address that, however, did it slip my mind." Walking over to his desk, the magister retrieved a parchment that he read aloud. "For my shame, I harbored a false Targaryen on the word on the disgraced Knight, Arthur of the house Dayne. Upon my shame, I must inform you that he - and the impostor - fled the Free City of Pentos. With Great Shame, the Prince of Pentos."

Taking the letter, Dany tried to read the words but found the scribbles of the Valyrian text evaded her understanding. Handing back the parchment, Dany nodded to her host before fleeing the room. Finding her room, Dany laid upon her bed, feeling the soft feathers comfort her back as she stared up at the ceiling. She felt lighter, now that she could tell her brother that he'd little to fear, that the boy that he'd faced was nothing more than a base-born son of their brother. Though she felt guilt creep into her gut. He was still her nephew was he not? Even if he was a bastard he was still blood of the dragon, he still had the same blood that flowed through her veins. However, he'd also split that very same blood when he'd taken up arms against her brother and then fled into the night. In the end, Dany was too tired to continue thinking about such matter, and soon sleep took her.

Days passed before her brother, at last, well enough to have no more need for the milk of the poppy. At first, he was dazed and confused, as it seemed that he'd little recollection of the events that had led to his vast injuries, but soon his senses returned to him and so did his memory. There was quite a lot of shouting and Ser Jorah was forced to hold him down to prevent her brother from harming himself. After a few hours of him shouting, Dany was broken when she saw her brother weep as he cried cursing the gods - and bastard alike - for their cruelty. Dany stayed as far from her brother as she could, only looking at him from his doorway whilst he slept; she dared not wake the dragon, not while he was like this.

"He's taken it almost as bad as I imagined he might." Turning her head, Dany, once more, saw Ser Jorah standing a few paces behind her.

"What brings you here at this hour?" Dany asked, looking back at her brother.

"His Grace has ordered me to guard him in case his enemies decided to try and strike, he's more paranoid than usual."

"He cried," Dany noted, "I've not seen him do that since I was a little girl. Mostly, he just shouts when he's upset."

Ser Jorah was quiet as he looked at the ground. "I'd not mentioned it to you, for fear you might think it best you tell him, your brother- well, he's been made a eunuch from the cut he sustained."

Dany felt her face grow pale at such news. "It… it cannot be. My brother is to be King, and he must have heirs if… if…" Dany stammered before she looked back to her sleeping brother. "T-Thank you for telling me." She, at last, managed before leaving her brother, once more, as she retired to her chamber where she balled up.

 _Don't wake the dragon. Don't wake the dragon._

The next morning, Dany was summoned to her brother's chamber, and inside, she was terrified. Upon entering, she saw him looking out his window, his back turned to her, dressed in a silver tunic made of fine silks. Making her presence known, her brother turned to look upon her, the bandages on his face removed, revealing a long scar that started just below his nose and ran through his lip and now to his chest. Dany looked away, but her gaze also fell on his right hand where she saw only a thumb remained, along with four short stubs.

"Say it." Her brother commanded with a sharp lisp from his disfigured lips. "You all are thinking it. _Monster_." His voice was low and emotionless. Dany shut her eyes, she dared not stare, and she didn't want to face her brothers gaze. "Look at me!" he ordered, grabbing her face with his one good hand, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Dany saw the anger in his eyes, the raw rage, the unreal amount of anger, she was sure he would hurt her, but instead, he released her. "You're more important now than ever sister, with you lies the hope of our family now." He looked at her before looking at her thin silk dress. Pulling it back, he looked upon Dany's naked breasts before scoffing to himself. "Useless, though we have time. I may no longer be able to father my own sons, but you, you can father me an heir, yes an heir." He repeated. "I bet a someone with a great army would give me my right if I have let their son sit on my throne when I pass into legend." Viserys smirked.

Dany felt scared at the look in her brother's eyes, as he seemed to look at her as if he were some stray mutt and she a pile of fresh meat. "I… I will do what I must." Dany said, looking at the floor.

"Good," Her brother said hobbling away, "good."

For the rest of the day, her brother kept Dany close by, never letting her out of his reach. She stood by him as he left his room to break bread with Illryio in his solar. The entire time Dany sat beside him, she noticed that his eyes stayed looking at the stubble on his right hand. Where Dany expected anger, she only saw a vacant look on his face, as if he didn't know how to quite believe what he was looking at. Dany felt ashamed then for looking at him and turned to her bread as she spread a lair of honey on the bread.

Viserys looked around the table and frowned before commanding a servant to bring him wine. "Have you had any luck finding my brother's bastard?" Viserys said, addressing Illryio.

"We've had little luck, thus far, your Grace," Illryio replied, taking a bit from a blood sausage sending. "I doubt we'll find anything for some time, I've sent word to my good friend in the Kingdoms to keep his little birds looking out for this Jon… what would it be, Sand, I presume?"

"Waters." Dany corrected.

Viserys looked at his sister for a moment. "No one asked for your input," he spat before looking back to his hand. "Though she is right, though I suppose it doesn't matter what bastard name he has, I just want to see him dead. No, not just dead, mutilated," he decided, "I want his fingers, all ten of them, laid at my feet."

At last, the servant had returned with a pitcher full of summer wine and a cup for Dany's brother who hastily took the cup when the servant had finished filling it. He drank greedily before yelling at the servant to bring another pitcher to accompany the first.

Illryio considered the pitcher of wine for a moment, his lips curled into a slight frown before speaking up once more.

"As you command, your Grace. Though, I must ask, what do you intend to do in the way of financing an army?"

Viserys looked back at his hand, wiggling the lone thumb that remained alongside the jagged stumps of his fingers. "Go to my chamber," he commanded Dany. "I wish to speak to with Illryio alone."

Dany had wished to remain, but nodded and left the room as she was commanded. Outside of the solar, Dany was meet by Ser Jorah who stood guard at the door, his eyes studying her as she walked past the two other guards that flanked the doors to Illryio's solar. The exiled knight watched her approach before joining her side.

"Princess, how is your brother, I didn't expect him to be up and about so soon."

"He's the blood of the Dragon, it's not surprising that he should be healing so fast," Dany replied, but at the same time she wondered how he might change, already he seemed to be acting meeker than before, though his temper seemed to still be as thin as ever. "Though, I fear of how he might… change."

"I expect he might keep to himself for some time, men who… who suffer like Viserys has tended to feel shame for some time afterward. I don't imagine he'll be the same for quite some time."

 _Perhaps never, if I'm lucky,_ Dany thought.

When Dany, at last, arrived, at her brother's chambers, she thanked the knight and took a seat on the end of this bed. There, she remained for the better part of the day, servants brought her food and wine, though she noted that Ser Jorah no longer stood guard at her door; instead, Illryio's our guards stood at her door. When she attempted to leave, the men shouted at her in Valyrian. After what seemed like an age, at last, her brother returned with Ser Jorah. Upon entering his chamber, he rudely dismissed the man saying he wished to be alone with his dear sister.

Dany watched as her brother approached her, stumbling along in his drunkenness. As he approached her Dany could smell the pungent scent of summer wine on his breath and see the red stain it had left on his normally white teeth. Viserys began to speak, but his words came out slurred and unrecognizable. Stumbling, he instinctively reached out with his right hand to grasp a nearby table and his mangled hand could only hope to smack the wood before sending him to the floor. Dany heard the thud of his body hit the ground before rushing to help her brother to his feet. Smacking her hands away, her brother pushed himself up with his good hand and looked at her, his eyes wild.

"You bitch!" He shouted. "You are thinking the same thing that they all must be thinking, I will not have it, you hear me!" His eyes looked crazed and his breath hard as he lumbered close to her. "You think me eunuch like the rest of them, you hide it behind a guise of pity, but I know the truth! The world will know the wrath of the dragon, starting with you, my dear sister."

Dany screamed as her brother slapped her hard in the face before throwing her to the bed. Crying for him to stop, Dany felt her brother pull her dress from her body, the sound of cloth ripping as her eyes fill with tears. Dany screamed at him that to leave her alone, but her brother was already on top of her. She closed her eyes and prayed to whatever gods - there might be - to save her from this. Dany felt her brother behind her, but after some time she felt nothing. Full of fear, Dany turned her head around and saw Viserys looking down at where his member should have been, his face blank as it was when he looked at his hand. He seemed distraught before looking at his sister, the rage seeming to be gone from his face, for a moment, before he slapped her hard in the face for looking at him.

"Get out." He commanded.

Shaken, Dany gathered the shreds of her dress and wrapped them around her naked form before running from the room. Leaving, she passed Illryio's guards, the unflinching men did nothing, and she suspected they had heard her cries and had moved not an inch from where they stood now. Holding her tears back, Dany ran to her chamber, quickly shutting the door behind her. Laying on her bed, Dany cried for a time, before, at last, falling into a restless slumber.

* * *

It's been quite some time since I've dropped an update. I've spent a lot of time working on the story, I've been working on three chapters at the same time, and am about halfway through with the next chapter and about a tenth of the way through the furthest most. I suspect that I'll suspect that I'll start to backload chapters to make things easier as I move forward in terms of getting out more for you guys. Also, I plan to go back and fix a few issues in the older chapter like Ned saying Karstark would be Warden of the North upon his death (it should have been Ben) and a few misspelled names.

Oh, and I would be remised if I failed to address Season 7 of the TV show... It sucked, to say the least. The writing was dreadful and seemed to lack any amount of logic what so ever. *Spoiler Alert* Also, Jon's real name being Aegon... really? I mean I fail to believe that RR is going to have there being TWO Aegons (Jon and his half-brother), so I tend to believe that his real name in the books will NOT be Jon or Aegon, that would make NO sense. *End of Spoiler* Anyway, it sucked on a writing standpoint and I just hope that I get to read The Winds of Winter sometime in 2018.

Note: This chapter marks the point where I've decided to upgrade the story to M, if you couldn't tell from the ending of this chapter.

Okay, question time-

Q: Good chapter, Viserys getting treated the same way he treats other people was a great lesson, but will he learn? Lastly, I hope Illyrio puts more effort in protecting Daenerys from Viserys especially after this fight with Jon and in the future. I know you're not putting Daenerys together, but maybe she visits Jon as a family member in the future?

A: Viserys, learn? No. I think it's pretty clear as to how that situation going to play out after this chapter in terms of Illryio.

Q: Did you mix up the order of this chapter and the last one? Chapter 12 seems to follow 10's plotline. 11's plot has Jon in another city altogether.

A: Chapter 10 and 12 are Jon Targaryen Chapters, Chapter 11 was a Jon Connington chapter in which Jon was not present just to clear that up.

Q: Turing, the man shouted into the shop and a boy a few years younger than Jon came forth.

Agartha was a strong boy for his age. He was approaching manhood and it showed in his physique from the toned muscles that rippled on his arms from the long hours he'd spent hammering in the hot forges.

A: This is on my list of corrections to make, Agartha is going to be aged up to around 15.

He wouldn't be approaching manhood if he was younger than Jon by a few years as Jon is only 12 in your story.

 **Q: I don't wish to be mean because I'm really looking forward to your story but I must ask whether your beta reader/editor is literate. That said, chapter one only has a couple of spelling errors and oddly chosen words.**

 **A: I Have been having issues finding a good Beta reader in the past few months, I have one right now though I would like to pick up a second one that would like to help as my current Beta reader is a friend though she's often busy and I'd like someone else to help. If any of you guys would be interested in helping with the story then feel free to send me a message with your qualifications. Thanks!**

* * *

 **Special Thanks to Katakana Katana**

 **for Beta Reading This Chapter**


	14. Chapter 14

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

* * *

 **Arthur IV**

The air was dry when at last the ship the bore Ser Dayne pulled into the port at Sunspear. For a long hard month, he's labor aborted the vessel working alongside the sailors to earn his keep in the cramped quarts of the crew. The Knight would have liked better arrangements, though it was the best he could afford on such short notice.

He recalled back to his arrival in Pentos the month prior when Lord Connington and he had been assailed in the streets of the city. Had the knight not spotted the first of the men drawing his dagger the two would surely be slain in street. At first, He'd been convinced it was the Golden Company come for Blackfyre, but when the city watch had given them chase Arthur knew something was amiss.

The two had then tried to flee the city with all haste but were cornered at the gate, which had been closed behind them. Arthur was sure that would be there end, but then several of the very guards barring their escape turned against the rest of the cities watch killing the unsuspecting men before they had time to react. It was then that Amar Kostōba the head of the guard for the Prince of Pentos's own estate revealed himself. From there Amar had led them to the docks through the gutters of the city. When they arrived, he explained he had acquired a ship to smuggle them from Pentos back to Westeros, but they only had gold enough to smuggle three men.

So, Arthur had arranged for the smuggler to see Jon, Lord Connington, and Maester Jervonas back to his ancestral home of Starfall, leaving Dawn in the care of Lord Connington should anything happen to him. From there Ser Dayne had dressed in rags and found work aboard a ship bound for the capital of Dorne.

"So, this is Westeros?" Amar said wiping the sweat from his forehead. "The castle is impressive, but this city, well it's a shithole compared to the likes of Pentos."

Arthur chuckled at that. He had been glad that the Pentoshi had elected to come with them to Westeros instead of facing whatever fate might have befallen him back in Essos.

"They call it the Shadow city, best to watch your purse if ever you find yourself wander through," Arthur warned. "Though it's not all bad."

"Well if they have wine and whores, I suppose that's enough for most men."

"We should get moving," Arthur announced starting away from the docks, eager to be on his way from the men pouring ashore with them, some already half-drunk as they stumbled forward, no doubt eager to go spend their coin in whatever brothels they could find.

"Do you plan to walk all the way to this home of your?" Amar frowned at the thought, though he supposed with what coin they had it wouldn't be a simple task to get ahold of horses without stealing them from the stables.

"Not if we can help it, I have an… understanding with someone here. I should be able to arrange something for us."

"Good, I'd rather not walk so many leagues afoot especially without steel in hand," Amar admitted.

Arthur nodded in agreement. "There is an inn not too far up the road called the Winding Walls, ask for one of Elisa's hot pies, I'll meet you there when I've finished with my business. Should I not return before the dawn it would be best for you to make for Starfall with white great haste."

"That doesn't sound promising." Amar frowned as several men pushed past him as they headed into the Shadow City, Arthur suspected more than a few of them would have their coin snatched by thieves with just how drunk they were.

"There's nothing to be done about it. We've little choice, in the end, we must see to this at some point." Arthur took a deep breath. Though you are right, Arthur thought, what I've in mind isn't the best idea, stupid even. Though I can't announce to just anyone that I'm in Westeros.

Amar reluctantly accepted what Arthur had said and the knight pointed him toward the inn before he headed for the walls of Sunspear. Walking through the Shadow City, Arthur passed common folk and none seemed to pay him any attention as he walked the streets, he supposed taking looked enough to like them know that he wouldn't draw any attention to himself.

When at last the last light of dusk had vanished Arthur began to make his way to the first gatehouse. With the little coin he had, Arthur found a nearby man drunk enough to do something stupid. Pulling what little coin he had out he told the man to distract the two men directly in front of the gatehouse. Empowered by the ale in his belly the fool stumbled before the two men and began to make a fuss allow the knight to slip through the gate without notice. The rest of the place was guarded more heavily but they had no reason to suspect him so Arthur found it rather easy as he slipped through the shadows.

Finding his way into the castle proper, Arthur slipped through room by room until at last, he was in the great Tower of the Sun. Slipping through the tower until at last, he was near the quarts of Martell family. Peering around a corner Ser Arthur looked to move further stopped when he saw a great ax had been leveled at his neck.

"Who is it that's stalking the halls of the Sun Tower like a dirty thief in the night?"

"Areo Hotah I presume?" Arthur said his eyes fixed on the steel at his throat.

"Your voice seems oddly familiar to me, who are you?" Areo demanded.

"We've met before, though last time Princess Elia was being wed to Rhaegar Targaryen."

The Captain of the Guard for all Sunspear groaned as he pulled his ax from the knight's neck allowing in a breath of relief. "Arthur Dayne," he recalled, "Why in Seven hells are you here?"

"I have to need to speak with Prince Oberyn and I couldn't trust the knowledge of my presence to any guard or to the wings of a raven."

Arthur, at last, turned and face the older man grey, haired man. Areo Hotah had broad shoulders that were covered by the chainmail shirt he had covering his chest coupled with his infamous ax with its lengthy six-foot ironwood shaft and intricate engravings, many a man had met his end to its sharp edge.

"I'm sending you to dungeons, I'll keep your name from my guard and let Prince Oberyn decided how he should like to deal with you." Areo hit the shaft of his axe on ground twice summoning up two men dressed in similar attire as himself. Giving a command, the two men took hold of Arthur one hitting him hard in the gut causing the knight to double over in pain.

Dragged down the steps of the tower Arthur found himself being led into the deepest depths of the castle. The knight was sure to avoid struggling for he was sure it would only serve to earn him a reprisal from one of the two men who were already rough with him as it was.

At last, reaching the dark cells of Sunspear Arthur was tossed to the cold, dirt floor of one of the cells, the hard iron bars slammed shut behind him. The dungeon of Sunspear was damp and cold, with the bright orange hew of a single torch lighting the damp stone walls. It had been a few hours now since the knight left the ship, and now he waited here. He had taken great care in arranging such a meeting with his host as he remembered the parchment he had left the last time he'd been to the capital of Dorne shortly before Lord Stark had arrived.

In the dark, the knight still had wished they hadn't come back to Westeros so soon. The choice to sail home had been hard pressed. Arthur hoped to flee to Lyes or the Summer Isles if necessary to escape the Gold Company and now Illryio Mopatis, but ultimately Jon had chosen to sail for Westeros. He'd argued that none knew his face, and he looked little like his uncle, and Arthur couldn't deny that. Though he still feared for the danger of this land. The Usurper was strong and had many men at his back, it was too soon for them to strike, but he would do as Jon commanded now that he'd taken up the tile of a prince in earnest.

A creak came from the dark as a light of a second torch lit the dark walls as its bearer descended a flight of steps into the darkness. Looking up from his cell Arthur could make out the figure of a man. He was tall and lean with a head of black hair and a well-kept beard to match. His eyes were dark and his skin kissed by the Dornish sun which complemented the yellow tunic in which he was dressed. Striding across the dirt floor of the dungeon the man stopped a few feet away from the knight as he sized him up.

"Your look seems to agree with your surrounds Ser Arthur. I don't think I've ever seen a member of the White Cloaks look so… well out of place." The man said coolly.

"Prince Oberyn, an honor," Arthur said, bowing his head. "I would have greeted you more properly if the circumstance were not so dire that is."

"What is it that you've gotten yourself into now?"

"The wrath of both the Golden Company and Illyrio Mopatis," Arthur confessed.

Prince Oberyn snorted as a smirk crossed his lips. "Oh, you sure know how to pick the worst kinds of foes friend."

"Friend, is it?" Arthur looked at the iron bars between them.

"For now, my family has had quite the time to think about you and that northern girl's boy. My brother is still very much against this prince you claim to be protecting. He believes supporting such a cause will bring nothing but ruin for my family."

"He is the rightful king," Arthur replied.

"Rightful, perhaps, but he's no blood of mine. His father left my sister for another woman, this boy's mother," The prince narrowed his eyes, "I don't suppose you understand how it must feel to know that the children my sister born weren't the one you stood guarding instead some second born son."

"I did as Rhaegar asked of me."

"You can hide behind the commands of a dead man, but you cannot change the fact that my nephew and niece were murdered while you stood by and did nothing to protect them." Oberyn spat. "My sister was raped and then murdered by Ser Gregor Clegane. You should have died there, protector her and her children, keeping them safe."

"Do you want dead then?" Arthur asked coldly, his eyes never leaving Oberyn. "Would that stay your misguided anger for Lyanna's son?"

"No," Oberyn answered honestly. "There are only two men in this world whose deaths can satisfy my need for blood. Ser Gregor, and the man who gave him the order."

"Tywin Lannister." Arthur spat out the name, the words still bitter in his mouth long after they had left it. He was no friend of the Lannister's and had been ashamed to have known that it was none other than Ser Jamie who had struck the last great blow to House Targaryen, toppling the dynasty from its place of glory to the remnant he was desperately trying to bring back.

"Yes," Oberyn nodded. "My brother is a patient man, I, however, am not. If this second son can help bring me these men's hearts, I will make sure Dorne sees it done. However, the time is not right, not yet. The drunken King Robert has too many allies at his beckon call and my brother cannot raise his banners for your cause without being assured it won't lead to the pointless deaths of our people."

"If Prince Doran chooses not to call his banners," Arthur said coldly, "Lord Tywin will never pay his debt to House Martell. We cannot take back the Iron Throne alone, and you cannot hope to rally any of the other Kingdoms to such a cause, however noble it might be."

"I could rally houses without my brother grace, many would fight for my family's justice, even if my brother won't. But not yet, the drunk is still strong, and it may yet be some years before an opportunity presents itself."

"So, you think we should just do nothing then?" Arthur scoffed.

"Nothing, no that'd be folly. You've no allies aside from myself, I suggest you take that prince and find some friends for the war yet to come. Should you gain enough support, perhaps then will my brother send the full might of our armies to fight alongside another Dragon King."

"Might be it easier to wed Princess Arianne to Jon? I might make it easier to sway your brother."

"If he were anyone else perhaps, but he'll always be a reminder to my brother and me that while he lived, Aegon and Rhaenys died. No, Lannister and his dog are enough for us."

Arthur nodded. "I suppose you wouldn't mind helping me out of here then."

Oberyn looked at Arthur for a moment before shrugging. "I suppose I can do as much."

Fishing for into a pocket Prince Oberyn pulled forth a key and turned in the rusted lock of cell pulling the door open with an audible screech. Rising from the dirt floor Arthur stepped out from the cell happy his stay would have been so short-lived there. Prince Oberyn then grabbed his purse and tossed it to Arthur instructing him to use what was there to find his out of the city before at last turning to leave. Upon reaching the top of the stairs to the dungeon the door was swung open for him my Areo who commanded Arthur to follow him.

The Captain of the Guard lead Ser Dayne through the three gates of Sunspear back to the Shadow City and stuffed a purse of coins in his hand. "There is a ship in the port, perhaps you saw it on your way in. I've had a man speak with the captain, big hairy man with a long brown beard with a long scar across his cheek named Hagor. Give him that purse and he'll take you where you need to go, no questions asked." Arthur nodded and turned to leave but felt Areo grab his shoulder causing the knight to turn his head back. "Should I ever find you in those halls uninvited again my ax might find itself in your neck."

Being let go, Ser Arthur made his way back into the shadow city, his hand clenched tightly around the purse in his hand. Navigating the labyrinth of streets and alleyways Arthur found his way back toward the docks, but not before turning for the Winding Wall. The inn was lively from the outside as brazier lit the streets. Arthur spotted a few of the men who he'd been bunching with on the ship vomiting against the wall of the inn, he'd never learned any of their names and didn't care to know them. Passing the by the men Arthur walked into the dusty stone inn and into a room filled with long tables paced with drunken men and several whores who were snatching the coin out of the purses of four drunken fools.

It didn't take Arthur much effort to spot Amar, the man was taller than everyone else there and the Pentoshi stuck out better than most among the Dornishmen. The forming head of the Prince of Pentos's Estate was in an argument with a very drunk man who had been emboldening enough by his ale to be picking a fight with the larger man. Arthur was no more than five steps away when the man swung clumsily missing Amar by a generous margin. Angered by the attempt Amar grabbed the man by the back of his head and slammed it into the oak table hard enough that the noise it made could be overheard amongst the noise of the room. Everyone turned and looked to see the man ragdoll to the floor as a pool of blood began to form on his face which had been deformed from its impact with the corner of the table.

Rushing forward Arthur drew out his dagger and placed it on the neck of drunk's friend who had pulled a rusted cleaver from his belt for the Pentoshi. "Drop that or I open up your throat." He warned. The man swallowed hard letting the weapon fall to the floor with a clutter before backing away.

Arthur nodded to Amar and the pair moved back out from the inn, with near everyone looking at the two. Arthur felt his mind grow wary and he feared drawing too much attention to himself. Once outside he bid his friend follow him as he took a long path of alleyways back to docks, constantly looking over his shoulder to ensure the two were not the .

"What is it that you fear so?" Amar asked as he looked backward himself.

"The Master of Whisperers, Varys, whose loyalty I do not know. His web is large, and his birds are numerous. If not for him I would not fear to be back here so." Arthur admitted as they at last came to the docks. "I hope they just take us as common folk, and nothing more. For one word that we are here and the whole of the Usurpers wrath will be upon us."

Looking down an alleyway that would take them to the docks Arthur saw only a few feral cats scurry away from at the sight of him, but nothing to give him pause. Leading the way, Ser Dayne and Amar crossed the port until they came to the vessel that Prince Oberyn had spoken of. Outside stood the captain, a heavy-set sailor with a long brown unkempt beard on his stubbly face. The sailor eyed the pair of men before him with a suspicious look, though whatever feelings he'd have had he didn't voice them once Arthur placed the purse of coins in his callused hands.

After the man checked inside the purse to ensure his payment was in full the man frowned. "I was told there would only be one of you, I never agreed two men." He grumbled though he pocketed the coins regardless.

"If you have a problem best you take it up the man who hired you." Arthur retorted. "He goes where I go."

The man nodded slowly, but his face remained hard. "I suppose it doesn't matter, but know that I run a tight ship, I'm paid to keep you safe but should he cause any trouble I'll have my boys throw him over the side of the ship."

Amar frowned, but Arthur put a hand on the man to steady him. "He'll be no trouble so long as we get where I'm needed safely."

The man looked at Amar hard and long but just grumbled to himself before turning and walking the long ramp up onto the deck of the ship. "Follow me, I'll show you your quarters." The two men followed the captain below deck and into a small cabin with a pair of hammocks and few crates. Looking over the room, Arthur couldn't complain, for this was far better than he'd had on their last voyage.

Thanking the man, who replied with a silent nod Arthur climbed into one of the hammocks will Amar found a crate to sit on. Closing his eyes Arthur thought about the preparations that needed to be made along with the danger that loomed over his head. All he could think about was the man draped in silks, his head shaven whispering into Usurper's ear. It was a thought that often crossed his mind, even in Pentos, but now it was consuming him. They were not in a powerful position and with the slightest slip they might end up in the grasp of their enemies which seemed to be all around them.

Arthur had done his duty ever since he had spoken he echoed the oath of the Kingsguard in the sight of gods and men. He would not forsake his sworn duty, less become as low as Ser Jamie, the Kingslayer. Breathing deeply, Ser Dayne drifted off into an unsure rest.

It took five days and five nights before they had at last docked into the port town outside of Starfall. The voyage to the Torentine was rougher than Arthur would have liked, and the hull of the ship smelled of nothing but salt and the stench of the men who manned the small ship. When at last he stepped off the ship, Arthur allowed himself a moment to take a breath, though he found the air to be filled with the stench of raw fish. The small town outside of Starfall where the tiny port sat had no more than ten standing buildings, the largest being an inn where he recalled a larger woman named Willa served hot fish pies to her patrons along with a mug of warm ale to wash it all down. The town was slurring as fishermen came down in hopes to sell what meager catches they had made to the captain of the ship. While most of the men made their coin selling their catch to his families hold and Arthur was certain that they'd not sell enough to make any real difference, perhaps a few would sell enough to spend a night at the inn with one of the few whores that stayed nearby, that was if the sailors didn't get to them first.

Amar seemed lethargic as he followed a few paces behind while Arthur made his way passed sailors as they unloaded barrels of ale and boxes of barley from their ship. The Sword of the Morning made his way for the fishermen who were already buzzing around the dock. Looking for the men, Arthur found a thin grey-bearded man dressed in a thin brown wool cloth. The man had leathery skin with specks of white salt from the sea that had found its way into the crevasse of his face especially into the long scar where his left eye had once been. Looking up the man looked Arthur up and down with his one good eye.

"Can I help you?" The man spat from the crate he sat on.

"My friend here and I need to hire a boat," Arthur said gesturing to Amar, "You have the look of a fisherman."

"I just saw you get off that ship, the fuck you need another for?"

"I need something smaller, ships like that are good for crossing the seas but not so good for the shallow water of a shoreline. I need a skilled man to get me somewhere."

"I'm more skilled at fucking whores than sailing, but I'm sure as shit better than anyone here, besides maybe the fancy captain that brought you here." The man spit coughed into his hand for a long moment before gaining his wind again. "What is it that you're looking for?"

"I need a man to get me to Starfall," Arthur announced. "We can't go to the castle by way of the road."

"You've bad intentions it seems to me… how much are you paying?"

Fishing into his purse, Arthur tugged at the last four stags he had along with a handful of Pennies. Placing them in the man's hand he looked down at the sum there and with a greedy smirk stuffed the sum into a stack that laid beside him.

Standing the man pocketed the coins with a toothless smirk. "Come on now, I'd like to have you there before the sun gets low. I'd like to be back to have a tussle in the inn tonight. There's a fine lady I'd like to bed tonight."

Leading Arthur and Amar along the shoreline, the man came to a path that leads to a beach along the cliffsides. There are pulled ashore was a single rowboat fishing supplies piled alongside it. Loading the items into the boat, the two men pushed the boat into the water before rowing out onto the open waters. The sea was calm with little more than a light breeze at their backs as the old man rowed along. For hours Arthur watched as the man rowed the two along the coastline, and for hours as Amar just sat in silence. True to his word, Starfall came into view long before the sunset. Instructing the man to bring them below the drawbridge that connected the island that Starfall sat, Arthur guided the man to near to where he knew the old tunnels of the castle ended at. Stepping ashore, Arthur tossed the man his purse with what meager Pennies remained and gave the old man a nod before watching him start to row his way back to port.

Leading his friend along the rocky shore through the traitorous rocky footing of jagged rock. He'd seen men break a leg walking on this shoreline before, but the knight was sure of foot as he made his way toward a nook in the rocky hillside just below the castle walls. There he found the passage that leads into the deepest tunnels of the castle that were blocked by a thick iron-barred door with heavy chains wrapped around the frame to keep lit locked tight.

Picking up a stone Arthur beat on the metal sending and echo down the hall. After some time, a hooded figure appeared from the shadows and looked him over for a moment. Pulling back the cloth of the hood Lord Connington revealed himself offering a wide grin. "I see you and our Pentoshi friend made it in one piece." The Lord frowned as he sniffed the air. "You'll need a bath and a clean shave, we're expecting guests." He announced as he started to work on removing the heavy chains.

"Guests?" Arthur asked confused as the former Hand opened the door allowing them into the tunnels. "What sort of guessed."

"You sister called sent for them shortly after our arrival, she's been quite busy apparently since you left." Lord Connington explained. "She's, at last, with House Hightowercower Lord Leyton Hightower didn't take too well to his uncle's death. She had some letter he wrote in during your last stay here she had delivered to him, and now you're here he's sent his son Baelor to meet here along with members of Houses sworn to House Hightower."

"How exactly is coming?" Arthur asked.

"I'm told Lady Alysanne of House Bulwer and Lord Tommen of House Costayne are with him." He informed. "Additionally, your cousin Gerold arrived not but a night ago."

Arthur groaned at the news. It would hard to keep such a meeting discreet especially with so many. "How are they excusing such a meeting?"

"They've told anyone who's asked that that Baelor is coming here to arrange marriages between Alysanne and Gerold along and your sister Ashara to Tommen that your Lord nephew will refuse of course." Lord Connington explained. "At any rate, it's best I take you, too up to the chamber your sister set aside for us. Might I also add that it may be best if you two remained unnamed as Prince Jon and I have."

"Very well," Arthur agreed, "Best we be in our chambers."

Following Lord Connington's lead, Arthur and Amar walked the narrow passages of the tunnels. Arthur knew the labyrinth well from his childhood when Ashara and he would run about the tunnels playing hide and seek. When his mother had learned that the two had been playing here she had scolded them as many a man had lost his way there never to find his way out. He'd always taken it to be just his mother talking, but he was certain that if one didn't know the way they could be lost for hours.

After some time, the three of them came into a small square stone room with a set of murder holes on either side and a thick oak door as the only entrance to the castle's lower levels. Should an invading force ever hope to sneak into the caste using the tunnels posted guards would be sure to bar the door and fire bolts from the slits killing anyone foolish enough to try and take the castle in such a way.

Coming to the door Lord Jon knocked hard three times before stepping back. After a moment the sound of the bar being lifted from the door came and a guard a dressed in chain-mail with a purple tunic overtop looked over the men before him. He said nothing as he stood aside letting Arthur pass by, he'd not recognized the man by sight but offered him a kind nod all the same.

The party walked unimpeded through the halls of the castle until they came passing by the Great Hall. The large oak doors of the Great Hall had been left ajar as Arthur stopped, peering inside. In the center of the long room stood his cousin Ser Gerold Dayne, the Darkstar, as he protested something before Ashara and his Lord nephew Edric Dayne. He had not set his eyes on the boy since he was but a babe, he had grown so much since then. The young Lord stat tall in the High Chair of Starfall, looking down at Ser Gerold. The boy had grown taller than Jon in his time and looked the part of a Lord. He'd let his pale blond hair grow to his shoulders that were draped in a rich purple cape. He bore a silver shirt with the sigil of House Dayne embroidered upon his chest. Sitting straight Edric looked past Gerold, as he started to spare with Ashara, and caught Arthur's eyes. Arthur noted his eyes were so dark a blue that in the right light one might think they were a strange shade of purple.

The young Lord quickly averted his gaze from Arthur and tugged on Ashara's shoulder and made a comment to his aunt who looked over to Arthur who spotted him for the first time. The Darkstar then too turned to look see what was behind him. Arthur's only cousin frowned upon seeing him. Turning back to Edric, the Knight of High Hermitage excused himself. Arthur held his gaze as his cousin, the younger man held only a frown before leaving down the hall Arthur had come from. Lord Connington gave Arthur a question looked, but Arthur could only offer a shrug in reply.

Descending from her seat just below the High Chair, Ashara reminds Lord Edric of some duty he had concerning Allyria. Nodding, the boy rose from the High Chair and descended as a Knight of House Dayne took his flank as the young lord left from the Great Hall through a door just left of the platform that House Dayne's seat of power stood.

Ashara crossed the room and passed Arthur and addressed Lord Connington. "Ser, once you've had this guest bathed I would like you to escort him to my Solar."

"As you command." Lord Connington bowed.

Ashara gave Arthur a glance, and for a moment her look softened, but quickly her face returned to an emotionless glare. Watching his sister go, Arthur knew the obvious danger his company made, and it seemed to him that his sister had only made things worse with the invitation to the Hightowers to Starfall.

It wasn't long thereafter that Arthur found himself soaking in a wooden tube. Pots of boiling water were poured in one, the process took near an hour before at last the knight had settled into the water. It wasn't long after that he was sitting in a brown mix of water and filth. Leaving the muddied water behind, Arthur felt the cold air rush over him. Retrieving a horsehair brush, Arthur scrubbed away what little dirt still clung to him. He had thought to remove the beard that he had grown in but he decided it was best to leave it. He did, however, tie his hair back behind his head to keep it from his eyes.

Slipping into a black linen shirt. A pair of rough leather boots had been given to him, they were fairly well worn but fit him well Strapping a leather belt to his waist Arthur fastened a steel dagger to it before leaving the washroom.

Soon after, Arthur was lead by a Knight named Dedric to his sister Ashara's solar. He had not recognized the knight, he was young, perhaps twenty. He was lean with only a stubble on his square face which wasn't particularly pleasant to look at with his tangled brown hair handing in his face. The man was about a head shorter than Arthur, and he didn't say a word to the Sword of the Morning, just took him where he needs to go. The man nodded once they reached the top of Great Tower before leaving. Arthur didn't know what to think of the man, but he supposed it didn't matter so long as he wasn't trying to pry in for any information.

Stepping inside the solar Arthur looked around, taking in the room. It had changed in the twelve years since he'd last seen it. When he had been running from Lord Stark all those years ago his elder Brother had only just passed, and the room was still full of his belongings, but now it had changed as his sister had taken over as Regent until Edric's sixteenth nameday. The room itself was round with two large stained glass windows bearing the Dayne sigil of a falling star and Dawn. The ceiling was high with large exposed cross beams engraved with the names of the past Kings of Starfall. In front of the two windows was a long desk that was near as old as the castle itself. On it was piles of letters and a large leather bound book that carried the leger full of accounts from grain to gold.

When the large oak door clasped shut behind him Ashara turned her head from the raven scroll in her hand. Tossing the parchment down in front of her she rose and looked at her elder brother with tired eyes. Arthur could see she had aged since he had last laid eyes upon her, while her beauty was still evident she had seen better days. She looked tired, her long black hair had softened and she looked more like forty than her thirty-three years of age.

"You look well," Arthur lied.

"I'm a mess, but it's no matter to dwell on" Ashara waved her hand dismissively. "The years have not been kind to me. Though you seem to have worn around the edges as well."

"That I cannot deny. Though my blade is as sharp as ever, and that will do fine for my role."

"Perhaps," Ashara folded her hands as she thought to herself for a long moment before continuing. "But we cannot rely on blades alone."

"That's why the Hightowers are here," Arthur noted. "Do you think it wise to trust them? I only just trust Oberyn Martell, and only because his bloodlust with the Lannisters is deeper than that of mine."

"Oddly I do. You've been gone for some time now brother. I've been busy playing politics in your absence." Ashara walked over to a stand adjacent to her desk where a pitcher and three goblets sat. Pouring a cup of wine Ashara turned back to her brother. "House Hightower is one of the three most powerful Houses in all of the Reach, and Leyton Hightower did not take too well to the death of his Uncle. He heard the rumors of your escape and several Ravens later he sent Bealor here to speak with me."

"What did you discuss?"

"The wars to come as it were." Ashara sipped on her summer wine. "House Hightower agreed to back Jon should the opportunity present itself. According to Baelor, Leyton demanded that House Hightower be given a spot in the Kingsguard along with Baelor named Hand of the King. On top of he wants a new fleet built by the crown should Jon take the Iron Throne."

"He sounds opportunistic in spite of his apparent hope to avenge Gerold." Arthur frowned. "He asks a lot."

"He claims he can cowers the Tyrells into joining our cause, that's worth some ships and a few titles I'd say." Ashara drank the rest of her wine before setting aside her cup. "House Tyrell has the largest army in all the Seven Kingdoms. Should the rest of Dorne join us, we'll have enough number to take on Robert. If the Gods are kind, Ned will not have the heart to fight against Lyanna's son leaving the North and possibly by extension the Riverlands out of the war."

Arthur nodded. "It seems like a fair plan, should it work out, but if the Tyrells should refuse I doubt the Martells will risk their necks, as much as they do hate the Lannisters. We'd be lucky to rally fifteen thousand men, most of those from the Hightowers. They'd sooner stab us in the backs than take on the might of the Usperper alone."

"Indeed, it's a gamble and a hard one at that. I've been told that Mace Tyrell is trying to wed his daughter into the Usperers line hoping Margaery Tyrell becomes Queen." Arthur began to pace the room. If the Tyrells didn't feel cause to join their cause they had little hope, and he dared not think about how the spider and his web could just as easily was them.

"I had hoped to deal with these matters before you come out of exile." Ashara sighed as she poured herself another cup of win. "You being here just complicates things."

"Like this meeting with Baelor could decide how we move forward?" If only Jon hadn't been so rash in Pentos, perhaps we would only have to risk the wrath of the Golden Company, but now the eunuch undoubtedly knows about Jon's existence. Arthur rubbed his head which had started to throb. "Has Jon expressed his thoughts on the matter?"

"I haven't asked for them." Ashara walked behind her desk before taking a seat as she sipped on her wine.

"This war will be centered around him."

"He's still just a boy, yes he may be the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, but I've no reason to expect him to be adept at politics with his age." Ashara looked strained as Arthur felt. "I can't risk the fate of our House on the opinions of a boy, king or not."

Arthur nodded. "Perhaps you are right thirty-three often think too much of Rhaegar when I look at him." It was true, the boy looked all Stark, but the features were still very much there. Arthur figured he looked past Jon's black curly hair and grey eyes and could see a bit of his old friend there. The nearly constant reminder of Rhaegar was both a blessing and a curse to him.

"I just see Ned in him," Ashara said, Arthur could sense the bitter pain behind those words. Arthur knew Ashara had once loved Lord Stark, perhaps even she still did. Arthur recalled the first time they had met, Brandon Stark had acquired a dance on the behalf of his shy younger brother. That was before the war before Brandon had choked to death trying to save his father Rickard Stark from burning alive.

"How long ago did you ask them to come to Starfall?" Arthur inquired.

"Six days ago, I suppose they'll travel by ship. They should be here within the week should the winds favor them." That might not be soon enough. Arthur thought to himself.

"Good, I should see to Jon then, I've no spoken with him since I arrived." Arthur started to leave but turned back to his sister. "The Pentoshi that came with me, Amar, I would ask that he remain here. He's a good man and knows his way around a blade, he's perhaps the only reason Lord Connington and I made it out of Essos in one piece."

Ashara nodded. "I'll see to it that he's given a place of honor here. We've need for a new Master of Arms I'm told."

Content, Arthur left Ashara and climbed back down the steps of the Great Tower. He knew that this was the start of what he always knew it would come down to, he just hoped Jon would be ready.

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 **A/N:** _Posting this late at night, I have to ask if ANYONE is willing to beta read this story it would be a great help. I've had no luck find a new beta reader as of late and just did a rough read through and edit on this one. I will more likely than not have to go back and have this edited again at a later data. I'll get to questions later when I find a beta reader. If you know anyone or are interested yourself in BETA reading this story feel free to drop me a PM and I'll get to you ASAP. Thanks._


	15. Chapter 15

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

* * *

 **Jon III**

The world rolled back into a gray haze and the sky opened, sending forth a thick blanket of snow that covered the earth. Jon had to shield his stinging eyes from the wind, which was so cold he feared his blood might freeze within his very veins. Forcing himself to look around, he found he was in a courtyard of a great castle with large, towering battlements and towers that reached into the sky. It was impressive, though it had been torn to pieces, with snow-covered rubble everywhere and stone walls blackened from a long-since vanquished fire.

Stumbling forward in the cold, Jon stepped into the snow, revealing a cloth below. Reaching down he retrieved it, shaking the snow from it to reveal the head of a grey direwolf on a white field. _House Stark_. He once more looked around him at the desolated castle. _This must be Winterfell, then-but I've never seen Winterfell…_ He must be dreaming, then-there was no other explanation.

And yet…and yet, he had never seen a snowfall in his life, but he was experience it like it as though it were real, the cold biting at his nose and finger like daggers. Looking to the sky Jon couldn't see the sun-only the millions of white flakes falling and a dark grey sky of the raging storm. Far off in the distance came a screech that cut through his very soul, making every hair on his body stand on end. Dropping the banner, he looked frantically for somewhere to run, in the distance he saw a dimly lit passageway. As quickly as he could, the prince ran through the thick drifts of snow as the screeching began to grow nearer.

Flying down the passage, Jon began to descend further and further into the heart of the castle. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, he came to a thick ironwood door that let out a heavy creaky as he pushed it open and stepped into the crypt. The thick stone walls and vaulted ceiling shone orange from the bright hue of torchlight. Jon had read of this place before in one of the old maester's tomes-it was said to be the hold the bodies of the Kings of Winter dating back to the Age of Heroes. He looked upon the stone faces of kings long dead, each in turn looking down upon him.

Pulling a torch from one of the many pillars running down the hall, Jon began to walk past each grave, looking on them in turn. He saw faces of kings and lords who had long since passed out of memory, but what struck him was the woman who looked down at him. Stopping before the statue, he looked up at her stone features, and even encased in stone, Jon thought her beautiful. Looking to her feet, Jon could see a single vibrant blue rose at her feet. Jon began to reach for the flower, when out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something shift. Bringing up his torch, Jon could see a pair of fresh white statues at further down the hall where the newest tombs where. Slowly approaching them, Jon could feel the air begin to cool around him the closer he got, until at last the figures were illuminated by his torch.

At first Jon could not make out the figures before him; both were young men, no older than twenty. Both men had crowns upon their heads. Jon could not recognize the first man-he was draped in a long fur coat, with what Jon assumed to be a direwolf, as it was nearly as large enough to ride, at his feet. Upon the man's head was an iron crown, rough and hard as the man's expression. The other man was shorter than the first, with longer hair and a crown of seven golden leaves, each with a single cracked ruby at their center. He was dressed in plate armor with intricate details, though Jon only took note of the three-headed dragon on the center of his breast. At his feet lay another, larger direwolf, and a young dragon upon its back. _Targaryen, but with a direwolf._ He had never heard of any Targaryen king to be buried in Winterfell. _Why would a Targaryen king have a direwolf? This cannot be what I think it is._

Jon took a step closer but heard a rush of air behind him as the air in the room was sucked of life. He had only turned to see what had happened when the light of his torch was snuffed out leaving him in the dark of the crypt. He felt panic start to take him as he heard footsteps from the spiral staircase down the hall. Frantically, he began to tell himself he was only dreaming, that he needed to wake from this terrible nightmare. However, the dream persisted despite his objections.

Clutching at his side, Jon reached for his sword but only felt air. Stumbling back, Jon stared into the darkness as the cold began to numb him and in that void of darkness he faintly made out two blue lights, brilliant as fire, yet as cold as icy air around him. Jon wanted to scream, to run, but his throat was as frozen as his legs and all he could manage was to continue looking on in abject horror as what he imaged to be eyes looked right through him. Jon saw them grow closer, ever too slightly until they were right upon him. He then felt a fist, strong as steel, grip his throat and start to squeeze. Jon tried to gasp for air, but his throat had frozen solid and ice was creeping up his neck. The last thing he heard was a loud screech that shattered his ears.

* * *

Bolting upright, Jon felt himself come back, as if life had been once more breathed into him. Gasping for air, he looked around, trying to gather himself once more, before realizing he was in small room with only a single table and a small chest aside for the straw bed he had fallen asleep in. Feeling at his neck, he made sure he was still all in one piece. He felt a slight chill as he realized he had broken into a cold sweet. Reaching under his bed, Jon retrieved the long leather bundle there and undraped it, revealing the blade of his ancestors. Running his hand over the black hilt of the weapon, Jon drew it from his scabbard and looked upon its sharp edge. He thought the steel looked almost red in the moonlight. He felt grounded holding the weapon, safer somehow, as if holding it alone could fend off the monster in his nightmare.

He returned the sword to its place under his bed. _What in the Seven Hells was that?_ For a moment, he wished to wake Ser Arthur and ask him what he thought of it, but Jon quickly abandoned that idea. _Am I still a child that I need to be comforted after a night terror? Perhaps I should ask for a wooden sword in case I hurt myself in the yard as well!_

Resolute, Jon crawled back on his straw bed and tried to find sleep once more, but what little of it he managed was restless. On the morn, he dressed in some linens before he came into the Great Hall, seating himself at one of the long benches. He was treated with warm bread and honey along with a few links of some blood sausage to break his fast. Not soon after, Lord Connington arrived in the hall, dressed in grey boiled leather, and with a long green cloak tied around his neck. His faded auburn hair was a mess, but he seemed to pay it no mind as he sat himself across Jon.

"You look tired." Connington noted as the man looked Jon up and down. "Trouble sleeping, your grace?"

Jon sighed at that. Connington had continued to refer to him as "your grace" whenever anyone not privy to the knowledge of his birthright was in earshot, and he still found it odd to hear, though he supposed he'd have to live sooner or later. "I'll be fine."

The former Hand of the King nodded. "I'm told that Baelor Hightower's ship was spotted down at port. Their party should arrive in Starfall afore long. I hope I don't need to tell you how critical this is, your grace. If we are to gain the support of the Reach, the Hightowers will need to play a role."

"So I am being told." Jon sighed. This was all new to him, and he was having trouble adjusting to the realty that was unfolding around him. Never had he been at the center of such politics. He had known that at some point he'd be wrapped up in such matters-the old maester had seen he knew about such things, but he had no taste for them. He always favored the yard and the smell of sweat on his brow and the feeling of hard steel in his hand. He could understand that-it was simple. But this-this was another thing altogether. _I feel trapped by all this… Gods, it shouldn't be this cloak and dagger._

"We should hope to treat with him on the evening-with the grace of the gods, we will have the power of Oldtown behind us." Lord Connington patted Jon on the back reassuringly. He had noticed that the old lord had looked at him with wistful memories as Arthur did from time to time. He knew he was thinking of his late father, a man how he had never met, yet whose shadow followed him everywhere.

"Well, it would be a relief to have such a powerful house behind us." Jon's thoughts turned then elsewhere as he stood from the bench. "I think I should retire to the yard. Doubtless you will find me when the part arrives."

Lord Connington nodded in reply as Jon turned and left him as the exiled lord began to dig into a chuck of salted pork.

As soon as Jon affixed a grey leather breastplate and retrieved a dull training sword, he entered the training yard of Starfall. The yard was a large, dusty field with a few buildings full of men working on armor and weapons for men-at-arms and knights alike. A few men had already begun to feel each other out as the sound of steel rang true against the stone walls and balustrades of the terrace above.

Jon looked for Ser Arthur amongst the men, but could see no sigh of his guardian, so reluctantly the young prince searched elsewhere. Eventually, he looked to a man dressed in rich a purple tunic, though was the only appealing thing of the man-he wasn't ugly, and he might have been hands on if it weren't for the way his nose smashed against his face as if a smith had hit it flat with a hammer. His jaw was thick and his brow thicker, but the men seemed to gather around him and laughed wholeheartedly at his words. In the short time he had been at Starfall, he had learnt the man's name to be Ser Derrick, the Master-at-Arms for the castle. Jon found the man to be rather brash, but he reminded him somewhat of Agartha in how he had often acted when they were alone together.

"Ah, here comes the young lad!" Ser Derrick said with a mighty boom. "I take it you want to put some notches into that poor sword again? One of these cunts ought to do the trick, I suppose." Derick motioned to the two men at his left. They were both squires around his age, both stood a few inches above him, both pale and black of hair and utterly outclassed.

"I've had enough of them, and I'm sure they've had earned quite enough bruises on my count as well." Jon replied. "I'd gladly cross swords with one of your knights, though, ser."

Jon was confident he could take any of the men. All were skilled enough fighters with years of practice and Jon was told some had lived through Robert's Rebellion as Ser Derrick himself had.

"You want to fight one of them? They'd ring a green boy like you's head in! You can't be but a few months older than the good Lord Eddard!" The man laughed. "You're a good lad, but I'd not risk letting you break a few ribs over your foolish pride."

Jon was wroth. He had spent most of his life crossing swords with his protector, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and he was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, who had been a great swordsman in his own right-in fact, he imagined he could best most men in the yard despite his youth. True, Jon knew he hadn't the strength of a man grown, but certainly he made up for it with his skill.

"I could rip of them apart!" Jon blustered.

Ser Derrick's smile faded and was replaced by a frown as he put his gloved finger right up to Jon's chest.

"Listen here, _boy_ -you mind my yard, you hear! I say you fight squires, you fight squires! Should one of these men offer, that's their business but I'll have none of it from you!" the man bellowed as the eyes of many looked on. "Any more of this and I'll find me a rod, you hear!"

Jon wished to strike the man, then, and hard. Only Arthur had ever spoken to him in such a manner, but who was this man to him?! Just as Jon was about to move on the man, another voice called out from behind him. "I'll gladly correct his attitude, Ser Derrick."

Turning, Jon looked to see the figure of a man looming a few yards away. Jon had seen him in the castle a few times. He had a tall, slender figure, a fair face with high cheekbones, and a strong jaw. His hair was a pale silver, with a long black streak that hung down in his face and eyes so deep a purple that they appeared black from a distance. Jon knew him at once to be the Darkstar.

"M'lord Gerold!" The knight tilted his head in a slight bow. "There's no need to waste your steel on a green boy."

"Clearly this boy wants a challenge worthy of his… status." Gerold Dayne smirked as he looked down on Jon. "So, I favor him with my blade."

Jon eyed the knight of House Dayne warily. Something about him made Jon uneasy. Nevertheless, Jon could not refuse such a challenge, and he wanted to test his skills with a blade. Jon followed the Darkstar to the center of the yard where several men looked on with their interest piqued. Taking his stance, Jon watched as Ser Gerold balanced his own sword in his hand, his lips pressed into a smirk, with a look in his eyes that dared Jon to come at him.

Jon circled the knight for moment, looking for a hint of an opening, but Ser Gerold gave nothing away. Jon began to grow restless as and allowed his guard to drop for just the briefest of moments, and in a flash Ser Gerold was upon his with serval quick cuts at open left side. Caught off guard, it was all Jon could to parry the blows as the ringing of his blade echoed across the stone walls. The swings were hard and his arm felt weak as the reverberations of the attacks ran up the length of his body. It wasn't long before Jon was backpedaling as Gerold pressed him with blow after blow, each harder stop than the last. Jon felt a panic grow in him as he saw Gerold smirking all the while as he was forced back on his heels. Then came a heavy downward cut that Jon was able to block with the flat of his sword, but the strike sent him to the grown hard on his backside with a cloud of dust.

Quickly, Jon found his feet but and looked as the Darkstar chuckled at his expense. Anger then drove Jon to take his first swing at the knight, trying for a cut at his open right-side Jon leaned into the motion, but his blade only caught air as Ser Gerold easily move out of its way. Jon then felt a sharp pain in his back as he fell face first into the dirt to the sound of cheers from the men around him. Shaking his head Jon looked back to Gerold who handed off the training sword to one of the two black haired squires and he smirked down at Jon.

"A green boy indeed, but better any squire you'll find in Dorne," the knight said offering his hand to Jon, who reluctantly took it. The shame of the loss was still raw, and Jon had only been so outclassed when crossing blades with the Sword of the Morning. "A fine knight you will make, Jon."

With that, Ser Gerold left Jon in the yard, his back already stinging from the bruise he'd earned. Wincing at the pain, Jon held hobbled over to a wooden stood where Ser Derrick helped remover his leather armor.

"A fine job you did, most men last half as long against Lord Gerold," Ser Derrick chuckled. "Perhaps you're less green than I thought, but don't think you're not still pissing grass boy."

Ser Derrick lifted the linen shirt from his back before letting out a deep laugh. "Your back's going to sting for quite some time after that. Mayhaps you ought to go see the Maester-he'll no doubt have something to ease the pain."

With a grimace, Jon forced walked back to the castle, his right hand clenching his stinging back. It was not an unfamiliar pain, yet it stung all the same. It was a quite the climb to the old Maester's quarters, though he lived in the shortest tower of the castle. Old and square shaped, it was said to be the last remaining structure from the Age of Heroes. Thick vines had overrun most of the grey outer stone, but the interior was surprisingly well preserved.

With a loud knock Jon entered the quarters and found Maester Jervonas conversing with Maester Carlyle, who had been serving House Dayne for thirty-nine long years. Old as he was, the man seemed to have an abundance of energy despite having reached a spry three-and-sixty. The old man dressed in a thick brown robe with a long chain with links of black, a yellow gold, iron, lead, and silver. The man's face looked like an old, worn piece of leather, his eyes sunken and his grey hair thin and short. He was not tall, perhaps only half a head taller than Jon was now, but he moved surprisingly quickly around the room looking over scrolls and piles of books around his long desk.

"The secret is that I cut the willow bark into slivers and boil them in a pot with clean water and some wild berries," Maester Carlyle was going on as Jon entered. "From there it's a simple step of adding some honey to combat the bitter taste before serving it."

Looking to Jon, the old maester gave a wide smile. "Ah, if it isn't the young prince! What brings you to see such old men?"

"A bout in the yard didn't favour me." Jon winced. "Ser Derrick sent me here."

"Very well," Maester Carlyle started to shuffle through some papers when a servant came through the door and walked over to the maester and whispered something in his right ear. Carlyle thanked hand as Jon watched the man leave the room as quickly as he had come. "I'm afraid I must leave you-Lady Ashara has requested my attendance in the Great Hall. I'm certain that Maester Jervonas is more than fit such a mundane task a this. If you'll excuse me, my lord." The old maester picked up a few parchments and gave a slight bow to Jon before leaving the room in a great haste.

 _What was that about?_ Jon wondered, but quickly decided not to dwell upon it. Jervonas worked quickly as he prepared harsh smelling ointment. Jon winced at first when it was applied but found that his back was dulled of pain rather quickly thereafter.

"This should ease you for a while, though you will be rather stiff for a few days as you heal. I'd say you took a rather hard blow! If the blade had been sharp, I might be preparing your body to be laid to rest," Maester Jervonas scolded Jon. "You must be more careful! Lord Dayne might be finest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms and your teacher, but that does not make you invincible. A stray arrow or a lucky swing of a sword will kill the mightiest warrior just as it could the dullest fool. I'll not put to rest the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms before he comes into his birthright."

"It was the practice yard-what could happen?" Jon retorted.

"They don't know who you are. Why, I've seen knights get frustrated at foolish boys and knock them in their heads with dull steel. That kind of thing kills a man. You're not a proper squire-to many of these men, you're little more than a skilled baseborn boy trying to make a mockery of them. Maester Carlyle has heard whispers that you've made a few foes in the yard."

"What if I have? They're just angry that I'm better than them!" Jon snapped.

"Better, yes, but that won't win you anything," the maester said as he started to wrap Jon's back in a clean linen bandage covered with more ointment. "Soon enough, these men could be sworn to fight in your name, sworn to die for you. If they don't like you, they may not be so eager to defend you when it counts. No matter how good you become in the yard, you've no hope to win a war with your skill with a blade alone, and when you're king, you'll need men who would gladly die for you to hold the Kingdoms together. You have no hope to do such a thing if you make foes of your own soldiers, especially if they happen to be lords."

"How am I supposed to show strength? A king needs to be strong." Jon said pulling his shirt back on, the bandages itching his skin ever so slightly.

"Ser Arthur never had the tact for politics-small wonder you lack the talent as well." Jervonas sighed as he walked over to a small shelf with several black leather-bound books stacked upon them. Pulling one free Jon watched the maester opened it until he arrived at the page he suited. "You never had the patience for this sort of thing-it was trouble enough teaching you the basics of the great houses of Westeros, though I suppose that is my own failing." He said handing Jon the book.

Reading over the first page Jon found it to be an account of some kind, it talked a lot about the accounts of several hands of the King dating as far back as Jaehaerys, First of His Name. Jon noted the writing to be dull as the accounts spoke a lot about deals and treaty and the like. "What is this?" Jon asked.

"The book is titled _An Account of the Political Strategies of Hands Past_. Quite an interesting read, though one might say Grand Maester Alford put more effort into writing this book than helping Aegon the Unworthy in his rule.

"I do wonder if you'll actually read it this time around," the maester mused. "It might end up saving your life in the long run. You're not going to be Aegon the Conqueror reborn no matter how much Lord Dayne wishes it. There are no Dragons left in this world, and that might be for the best. As you know, the last time those winged beasts ruled the skies your family was split in two and ripped both their dragons and the realm to pieces."

Jon closed the book, rubbing his thumb across the textured leather binding as he thought on what had been said. Not long after that, Lord Connington had come for him with word that the Lords of the Reach had arrived and where in waiting in the Great Hall. Together, the two began to leave the ancient tower, with Maester Jervonas a few paces behind, his chain rattling as he followed. The exiled Hand looked at Jon as he winced. Jon noted the hint of concern there, but whatever he was thinking, Jon's namesake said nothing of it.

When they entered the Great Hall, Jon heard was greeted by an army of men dressed in mail and grey boiled leather, with the coat of arms of House Hightower emblazoned upon their tunics, a white tower surrounded by a thick grey plume of smoke. The men looked tired from their time at sea and upon the road. Most of them looked dirty and weathered, but Jon could see a man standing among them, dressed in fine grey silks with an elegant sword upon his hip as he spoke with several well-armed men Hightower men that seemed to be drawn to him. Jon could only assume him to be Ser Baelor Hightower, heir to Oldtown and to the Hightower. Ser Baelor seemed to be in good spirits as he laughed with the men around him.

The good ser was handsome, with a sharp clean-shaven jaw and short and well-kept hair dark as dragonglass. His eyes jade eyes wondered the room as he towered over the men around him, granting him sight over everything that moved. In a moment he spotted Lord Connington as he entered, and his eyes then went to Jon. His smile vanished, and the man seemed to study Jon, his eyes questioning him. Jon made a point not to look away.

 _Let him see me-he is free to look at me all he wishes. Let him judge me as he wishes._ Jon was certain his Northern blood would win him little favor here in the South, he'd known that for years now, but he cared not what people thought of his parentage, and he doubted in the end it would matter when it came down to it.

"I don't like this-too many ears." Turning, Jon looked to see that Ser Arthur had taken his place to Jon's right, his voice low and cautious. "We've already caught two of them in the labyrinth of the dungeons, the castle has been closely watched, but now…" Ser Arthur shook his head. "Doubtless one or two of his spies slipped in with the Reachmen."

"You think the Spider is watching Starfall?" Jon asked. He'd heard tales of the Master of Whispers and how Arthur named his traitor and a threat to Jon's very existence.

"Doubtless. The Usurper was calling for my family and the castle itself to be torn down when news reached him of your mother's death and my escape to Essos, though I know not if he knows of your existence. After that show in Pentos, the Spider certainly knows, but if he's told the Stag, I have no clue."

"Why do we stand in the open?" Jon asked, a hint of panic in his voice.

"I doubt they would recognize the three of us, not as we are now. Few know your face, and I have my doubts that the Spider knows enough about you yet for his spies to know you by sight. Best we play our part until we are sure the only ears around us are that of our allies."

Jon nodded to that. _The Spider seems to be a great danger to us… I cannot hope to trust my own tongue, let alone those of the whole of Starfall. There are already five I know who know of my presence, perhaps more; it may only be a matter of time before the king finds out I am in Dorne._ Jon rolled his fingers in his palm feeling the sweat there. _Cloak and dagger, how I hate such tactics._

Lingering for some time, Jon watched as food was brought forth from and laid upon the lower benches and the finest food was set upon the high table. Following Arthur's lead Jon took a seat upon the far end of the lower benches. Looking up Jon could see Lord Edric Dayne at the centermost seat with Lady Ashara on his left and Maester Carlyle to his right. Down the bench, Jon saw Baelor speaking with Ashara across the table, though right next to him was Ser Gerold Dayne, and Jon could see his dark eyes fixed in his direction. A feeling of unease overcame him, and Jon looked away.

"He's looking at me," Jon whispered to Arthur, and his protector poured him some wine before turning to look upon the high table himself.

"No, he's looking at me," Arthur sighed. "My cousin has been obsessed with Dawn since he'd first heard about it. He wants to be the next Sword of the Morning. Problem is, I'm still alive. Gerold wants to test his steel with me in the yard, but I won't entertain him. It would only make things worse."

"He fought me in the yard this morning." Jon felt his bruises throbbing as he recalled the beating. "I wonder if it was because of who I am or because he wanted to send a message of some kind."

"Perhaps." Jon watched as Arthur turned back to his food. "There's no point in fretting over it now, Jon; whatever he wants, we'll deal with it in due time."

Putting Ser Gerold from his mind, Jon tried to enjoy himself. The men around him seemed tired, but merry all the same for the hot meal before them. Getting caught up in the festivities. Jon listened to the men as they told tales of tourneys and their travels across the Kingdoms. For as long as he could remember, he had only read of these places in books, never before having seen them with his own eyes, and yet hearing the knights talk about the lands they had seen, Jon felt a strange yearning within him to venture, to see the kingdoms that ought to have been his brother's by right, but now fell to him to reclaim from those who had usurped his family's rule.

When at last the halls were lit by only torchlight, the men were booming in drunken slurs and laughing amongst each other as they caroused. All were in high spirits as they drank and sang in the hall, save two men who had gotten into some argument and after a short scuffle had been taken to down to the cells for the night for their outburst. Jon however had kept from joining any in the festivities. He'd heard the stories of King Robert, the slovenly drunk that he was, and had no intention of adopting the practices of his enemy, foolish as they were.

After some time, Jon watched as those at the high table slipped out from the room, unnoticed by those on the lower benches. Once they had slipped out from the Great Hall, Arthur beckoned Jon follow him. Together with Jon Connington, the three left the room as no one seemed to pay them any mind. Walking through the long halls of the castle and passing two guards they climbed up the winding steps of the Great Tower, they came to Lady Ashara's solar. With two loud knocks, the great oak door swung open to the room, which had a long table placed in its center with elegant chairs surrounding it.

In the seats, Jon could see that Ser Baelor Hightower was seated nearest to the head of the table, next to the Lady Ashara Dayne and across from Lord Edric Dayne and Lady Allyria Dayne. Those also already in attendance were Maester Carlyle and Jervonas, and another Lord and Lady, whom Jon had assumed must have been Lord Tommen of the House Costayne and Lady Alysanne. In the far corner of the room Jon could see ser Gerold leaned against a wall eyeing the three as they entered the room.

"May I introduce to you all His Highness, Prince Jon of the House Targaryen, the rightful heir and ruler of the Seven Kingdoms," Lord Connington announced.

Jon looked over the faces in the room. He saw blank looks on most of their faces, but he could see a smirk form on the corner of Ser Gerold's lips from across the room that made Jon uneasy. _They're all here to see me. I wonder what they expect of me? In that case I need to project strength._

"So, this is the son of Prince Rhaegar?" Ser Baelor said rubbing his chin while he examined Jon. "I expected…well, more, I suppose. He looks more wolf than dragon to me."

"This is for the best." Arthur replied, his voice even and cool. "If he had the coloring of a Targaryen he would have long since found and the Usurper may have already learned of his presence here and marched south with his bannermen to cut my head off himself, or so I've been told."

"I meant no disrespect, but the truth of the matter is that he doesn't have the look of his father's family. You might think that an asset now but when you're trying to rally armies to this cause…"

"Should House Tyrell proclaim him as the rightful heir and King with your house's support, the rest of the Reach is sure to follow suit, Ser Baelor." Ashara said bluntly. Lady Ashara folded here hands on the table as Jon saw her gaze burn into him. "Should we convince Highgarden, then surely the numbers will be with us once Dorne is joined with the armies of the Reach."

"The Lannisters are bound to House Baratheon by royal marriage. Alone, they can muster a host of sixty-five thousand men, and with aid from the North and the Knights of the Vale, their force could easily take destroy any force we could hope to field," Ser Baelor said grimly as the Lord next to him nodded. "Should that happen, the crown would have little issue in taking us on. Besides, I have my doubts about Prince Doran's commitment to any war effort, Targaryen or otherwise."

"The Lord Eddard might give pause at the prospect of marching south to rage war on his own nephew, and as the North goes so will the Riverlands. The Knights of the Vale would need time to arrive upon mustering at the Bloodgate. We would need to strike for King's Landing before the Vale forces could join battle with Robert," Lord Connington replied. "Should the Vale join with the Lannister and Baratheon armies it would indeed look ill-fated for any chance of taking back the Iron Throne."

Jon thought of his Northern uncle, the famed Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. He'd heard about the Warden of the North from Ser Arthur. He'd said that Lord Eddard was a quiet man, but not someone to underestimate as both a warrior and battle commander. _I've nearly killed one uncle already. I wonder how I might deal with this one when the time comes. Should I have peace with him or war?_

"We don't even yet had the support of Mace Tyrell, and there is no guarantee that every Lord in the Reach would be willing to risk such a cause with such odds against us," Lord Tommen spoke up. "I cannot pledge the support of my house to a cause that would surely end in nothing more than my hold being razed to the dirt and my head on a spike."

"For now, we have time on our side. We need not give battle until the time is right. Lord Jon Arryn is old, and the king, I'm told, has grown fat, and spends more time drinking and whoring than ruling. With the grace of the gods, they both die and leave their rule to young fool boys not yet old enough to wield swords." Ashara pointed out. "Perhaps waiting for turmoil is the best course to take."

"Yes, that might be so, but Robert still has two brothers, and Lord Stannis is a great military mind in his own right, and Tywin seems not to be showing any signs of old age. Worse yet, Yohn Royce and the Blackfish are both sworn to the Vale. Either one of them could lead the Knights of the Vale into battle. No, we cannot hope that the old age grants of the advantage, not unless we must wait for the gods themselves to smite every enemy your prince faces." Lord Tommen snorted. "I do not wish to end up like the Iron Islands after their own rebellion!"

"Calm yourself, my lord! You forget yourself," Baelor commanded as Lord Tommen shrank back, though his face still held a bitter look to it. "I must agree with him on one thing-we cannot end up like the Ironborn. Wur war must not be fought with wishful hopes and underestimations of our enemy. If we are to go to war, then we must bide our time until we have an opportunity. To do that we must first get my liege, Mace Tyrell, to join our cause. without the full support of the Reach we have no hope to take King's Landing from the Stag and Lion."

"What would you propose?" Lord Connington leaded back in his chair, his hand stroking the auburn hairs on his chin.

Jon watched as Ser Baelor presented a rolled parchment that he rolled across the table toward him. Looking to Arthur, Jon saw the knight raise a brow. Taking the paper in hand Jon removed the twine and unrolled the paper and began to read aloud. "Honorable Mace Tyrell, Warden of the South, High Marshal of the Reach, Defender of the Marches, and Lord of Highgarden, I do humble ask that you take my bastard, Jon Flowers as a squire. The boy is young but shows great promise with a blade and would rise high despite his birth under the training of Highgarden. I want right by him, but I cannot let him stay in Oldtown with my Lady wife's protest. Signed Ser Baelor Hightower."

Tossing the parchment to the center of the table, Jon rested his hand on his hand as he tried to understand what he had just finished reading aloud. _Posing as the bastard son of Ser Baelor Hightower to get closer… I don't know whether I should be insulted that he would propose I pretend to be a bastard son, or honored that he'd be willing taint his reputation by claiming a bastard. Moreover, House Tyrell could take such a proposal as a slight, offing a bastard to squire under Mace Tyrell rather than a true born son._ Jon concluded that it might be more damaging than it would be helpful.

"This plan seems doomed from its inception, Mace Tyrell would never accept a bastard son as a squire." Jon Connington blurted out, his tone sharp with a hint of anger behind it. "Our enemies many try to wrongly challenge Prince Jon's birth as it sits, and you would have him pose as your bastard boy?!"

"My lord, calm yourself." Lady Ashara said offering the former Hand of the King a soothing touch. "I'm sure your concern has been thought of before the good ser would offer up such a letter."

"Indeed, I have. As you're aware. . . Lord Connington, is it still Lord? I'd thought your nephew Ronnet holds your former lands and the titles nowadays." Ser Baelor smirked as a bitter look flashed across the Lord's face. "I suppose it doesn't matter, where was I? Oh yes, as I'm sure a former Hand of the King would know my sister Alerie is the Lady Wife of Lord Mace Tyrell. I've already arranged it to be so with her, though I've taken care to not let her in on the Prince's identity. She may love our family, but she will always think of the safety of her children before House Hightower now."

"I don't like this plan one bit. Jon, if I might. . ."

"You think this is the best way for us to gain favor with the Tyrells?" Jon asked ignoring Lord Connington.

"Only if you're able to impress them. Should a boy they think a bastard find their good graces, the realization of who they really are would no doubt bring them into your fold. It is a risk, I will admit that fully, but I believe it is one worth taking, your highness."

"He cannot go alone. We need someone to be there to send word back to us. If he's caught trying to send correspondences to any of us, he'd be in irons. We can't afford such a thing." Arthur looked around the room. "Someone we can trust must be sent to Highgarden as well to take the fall and maintain connection."

"I could go." Lord Tommen offered rubbing his chin. "I would be no trouble, I can't imagine Lord Tyrell would complain."

To that a chuckle came from the corner of the room, and everyone turned and acknowledged Ser Gerold for the first time. "Some help you would be. I mean no offense my lord, but you do not look like a man who's very discreet. I fear you're more like to be reckless and get us all killed. Also, I've heard you're not exactly known for your swordsmanship." Lord Tommen Costayne's seemed to shrink a bit though his face turned red all the same. "I'm twice the swordsmen of any. . .well nearly any…man in Dorne or the Reach. Not only can I be discreet in my delivery of messages, but also, I can keep teaching our green prince her how to hold his steel. No offense to your liege, but Mace Tyrell is not known for his skill with a blade."

"How would we excuse this, cousin?" Jon could sense the slight tension between the two.

"Simple. I'm to marry the dear Lady Alysanne. Send me after you send Jon. I'll go to Highgarden on behalf of my lady wife to spend time currying favor with the Tyrells after our wonderful marriage. After charming the good Lord Mace, I can convince him that I can take over training his new squire so that he can do more sensible things like singing and drinking the day away. More likely I'd have more staying power than Lord Costayne ever would."

Jon wondered what game the knight might be playing at, or if he truly was interested in such a role. _He wants something, but what it might be, I've no clue._

"I see no issue with it," Ser Arthur said, "if this works for everyone."

Everyone nodded, save Lord Connington and Lord Costayne, both of whom seemed to be off put in one way or another.

"Very well, then. Jon Targaryen will be known as Jon Flowers until the time has come for us to make our move," Ashara announced. "Brother, I will send you with Ser Baelor to Oldtown to represent both Jon and House Dayne and I shall keep both Lord Connington and Lady Alysanne here. Gerold and Alysanne will be wed within a fortnight before Gerold is sent to Highgarden."

Jon looked across the room as everyone stood and his eyes fixed on the near black eyes of Gerold Dayne, and for a moment, Jon didn't know what to think of him.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hey everyone. Sorry it's been a while, school and life have been getting in the way. This chapter is a bit longer than usual and I think I'm going to do longer chapters once a month until May when I think I can try to put out two a week when school ends.

At any rate I hope you guys like how things are going with the sorry! I'd love to hear from you guys as always!

* * *

 **Special** **Thanks to Akemi Homura-san for Beta Reading this Chapter**


	16. Chapter 16

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is the property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

* * *

 **Gerold Dayne I**

Ser Gerold Dayne had always been a dutiful son, a loyal member of his House and in turn, he was the Knight of High Hermitage and now, he had a bride of a powerful house. It wasn't nearly enough for him, for lesser men, perhaps, but he was not lesser. He'd wanted Dawn all his life, and yet he'd no hope to wield it, not so long as the honorable Ser Arthur drew breath. He needed not to be named the Sword of the Morning, titles were meaningless to him, he was the Darkstar, a man of shadow and cunning.

When the time would come he would live up to his name, he'd take what he desired, even if it meant leaving the whole of the seven kingdoms to burn, so long as he came out on top of the pile of ash in the end.

So, when the council at Starfall had brought forth the boy, Jon Targaryen, as the heir to the legacy of Aegon the Conqueror and lawful successor of the Mad King, Gerold saw an opportunity. That was two years ago, he had been left to watch the boy in place of Arthur who was stuck in Old Town, it would not be the first thing he would take from his cousin, in time he would have everything.

Looking out onto the grassy yard of Highgarden, Ser Gerold watched as the young Prince Jon crossed swords with Ser Garlan Tyrell. It was a hot and windy afternoon as Ser Gerold sat in the shadow of a great oak tree as leaves rustled in the blustery wind. Gerold couldn't help but think to himself that Highgarden lived up to its name. All around him where hundreds of well-kept bushes and trees with fruits ripe for the taking that were sprawled throughout the myriad of gardens beneath the shadow of the towers of Highgarden.

Reaching into his pocket, Gerold pulled out a thin dry parchment that was curled neatly in his fingers. Unrolling the paper, he reread the paper for the third time that day. _We fear a Spider's birds are near. The Lord Rooster has left his high place to find friends in his old nest._

Gerold tutted. Over two years and yet Arthur and Ashara had accomplished naught in his eyes. Meanwhile, House Hightower seemed to be pissing away the days with their empty promises. He wondered how long before the Lord of Old Town decided Ashara's plan was a lost cause and would try to garner favor with King's Landing or Casterly Rock in exchange for the boy's head. With Connington running back home and Arthur's paranoid fears of Robert's eunuch, Gerold imagined it wouldn't be too long before someone acted. However, he had the boy for now, how he might seek to use him was yet to be seen.

A sharp clash rang out, stirring Gerold from his thoughts. He had looked up just in time to see Ser Garlan's ass being firmly planted in the dirt by his foe, as a cloud of dust plumed up around him. Hovering over him was, of course, Jon. It was a familiar sight; the boy was truly a natural talent. Gerold recalled Jon had been quite skillful with a blade when they first met, but now after two years of training in Highgarden, his maturing body had grown harder, stronger, until he was now something entirely different altogether, and as much as Gerold hated to admit it, the Prince was nearly a challenge for him now, he'd long lost the luxury to toy with him in the yard.

Jon made a comment that drew a hearty laugh from the second son of Mace Tyrell as the knight was helped to his feet. Rising from his place in the shade, the Darkstar approached the two young men, looking them up and down, a thin frown upon his face. "Perhaps, you should return to sparring with multiple partners Garlan." Gerold mocked. "If you keep letting some up-jump bastard boy beat you, it might reflect poorly on your reputation."

"What difference does it make, I'd wager that there are few in the Kingdom's better than Jon, certainly he's better than I. Besides I care little for glory. If men should like to mock me, then let them, however, I shall have the last laugh when this one puts their asses in the dirt as well." Garlan motioned to Jon who smirked with pride at the knight's praises. The look made Gerold want to slap the pride from the boy's face. "I'm of the mind that it's long since time Willas had knighted Jon." Garlan declared, clasping Jon on the back with a wide grin.

"As I recall, it was your father who was supposed to be the one to knight Jon when his time came. Oh yes, now I remember, he pawned the bastard off on your brother." _Though I will admit he is much preferable over that fool._ Gerold thought. "Regardless, Jon has done well, I'm sure Lord Hightower would be so proud." Gerold declared, his tone thick with mockery.

"I am certain Jon will wipe any shame that his father might hold against him with the great acts he'll doubtless perform in his future, Ser Gerold."

"I am quite happy to be under the tutelage of Willas, Ser Gerold. I'm also certain my father would be proud of me." Jon replied, though his mean of father and Garlan's where vastly different. Pulling his helm off, the boy's long black hair shone with sweat in the summer sun as he offered a knowing smile to the Darkstar. "He'd also remind me that there is more to this world than swordplay. Willas has taught me, your tongue will save you more often than your sword."

Gerold couldn't help but laugh. "When I met you, there was little that concerned you other than swordplay," Gerold smirked, but he felt a burning feeling in his chest somewhere between annoyance and anger. _His ambition for the throne, the fool thinks he will sit in King's Landing someday. He'll be a stepping stone for me, with or without a crown._ "Maybe, but there comes a time when some heads need to be taken from shoulders of men with sharp tongues."

"That's why Hightower sent you with him, Ser." Garlan chuckled. "Never has a bastard been so lucky as you Jon. The gods smile on you. My family should be lucky to have a sword as true as yours. Now come, I wish to be out of the sun, I think we've stayed long enough in this heat and this breeze is doing little to cut through it."

Gerold watched them go back toward the castle together. He couldn't help but feel his hand twitch at the thought of Jon sitting his ass on that mangled seat men called a throne in King's Landing one day. Though he could still use Jon in the unlikely event that the boy ever found himself as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. The great game was young, and he was one of the many unseen players hiding in the shadows, and he himself was a shadow.

The evening seemed to come quickly, as men pooled into the great hall of Highgarden. Gerold had taken his place at the high table along with all members of House Tyrell present at Highgarden that evening. At the table was Mace Tyrell, seated alongside his two sons Garlan and his heir Willas, the only other members of House Tyrell present. Gerold took his place to the right of Willas along with the Maester Gregor, an old and decrepit man who was half blind in his left eye and who's hair had thinned so bad that he seemed to only have a few dozen strands of grey atop his head. He was accompanied by some young fat plump-faced boy who was helping the aging man whose name he hadn't even bothered to learn.

Eating his meal quietly, Gerold found himself looking down at Jon, who was laughing whilst he drank with the host of men on the lower benches. He could remember a time when those men had loathed Jon for being some upstart bastard who wanted a knighthood. They had shunned him at first, but slowly over time he had won most of the men over, and those who still held him in contempt had long since chosen to hold their tongues. Yet here Gerold sat, looking down on a Prince, he was at the high table and the boy on the low benches with the rest of the rabble.

"The north has need of at least another forty-thousand bushels of grain, according to Lord Stark. They've been seeing an increase in these so-called 'wildling' attacks near the wall, which have been slowly bleeding their stores. According to Lord Eddard, they've had to open the stores of Winterfell itself to smaller lords whose supplies have been plundered or burned in these raids. Lord Stark fears that when winter arrives they will be lacking should these attacks continue." Willas informed his father who sat feasting on a turkey leg.

"The more attacks the more grain the Starks will need to buy." Gerold pointed out. "Grain becomes more valuable than gold to the starving masses, particularly in the winter."

"The masses are not starving." Garlan retorted.

"Not yet, but when winter eventually sets in and the granaries are empty and the lords of the North are hoarding the last of the grain-"

"It will not come to that. Besides House Stark will doubtless order more shipment of grain from the South, as it has done for every lengthy winter. The citadel predicts this next winter will be a long one, Lord Stark is wise to purchase grain in the middle of a harvest. As for these wildlings, that will be a problem for the Starks to deal with. For now, we should give Lord Stark his forty-thousand bushels for the price he's asked. If we slight him now we could pay for it in the future, he is, after all, a good friend of the king."

"We can send ships carrying the grain to White Harbor within the week." Lord Tyrell emptied this goblet with a long gulp. "Send him a case of Arbor wine and promise him more shipments in the future, should he need them of course."

"Which he certainly will." Gerold chimed in.

"Very good, now all that is needed is to send someone to oversee the shipment," Willas said.

"Who then?" Lord Tyrell inquired.

"Jon Flowers," Garlan stated. "I say you send Jon and give him his knighthood when he returns, I'm tired of waiting for him to be given his due."

"Delivering Grain isn't something worth knighting the boy over." Gerold snorted. "It's a trivial task. Send him to a tourney why don't you, at the least there he'll prove his swordplay and earn his damned knighthood."

"He's skilled enough to best some of the most esteemed warriors we have at Highgarden, he's long since proved himself skilled enough." Garlan retorted. "This will simply prove he can hold a group of men together for the long trip around to Whiteharbor."

"I'll leave it to you Willas, he is yours to deal with." Mace declared, ever the meek man he was, avoiding the task of a decision.

Gerold watched as Willas tapped his fingers on the table in thought for a moment, his eyes shifting to Jon. The Dayne knew the outcome, the man like Jon, he'd give him a knighthood, perhaps he pitied him for being a bastard. If only he knew the truth. A knighthood from a Lord of Roses in exchange for completing a task as easy as plucking one. The Darkstar remember killing three outlaws in single combat, gutting the bastards one by one before he'd earned his knighthood. The boy prince would get his by sailing North, it was pathetic.

"I call upon Jon Flowers." Willas declared, his voice echoing down through the great hall, silencing the men on the lower benches. Every eye turned to the heir to Highgarden who braced the table to support his crippled leg as he stood. In response, the raven-haired boy stood before his liege. "I have received a request from the Warden of the North, Lord Eddard Stark, for a shipment of grain to help replenish his stores. The shipment is quite considerable, thusly, my father and I have elected to send you, my squire, to oversee the shipments safe arrival to Winterfell."

"I shall see it done then, in the name of House Tyrell." The boy declared.

"You are to sail to White Harbor in two days." Willas declared before he slipped back into his seat, his face appeared labored by the meager task. Gerold had always thought it would be more of a blessing to have a quick death than to linger on in agony as a cripple. He couldn't imagine this man leading the Reach one day, his brothers were more suited, not as sharp perhaps, but more capable in war, and Gerold was certain that war would not be in short supply soon.

When the last of the afternoon's light had fled behind the horizon, Gerold found himself in the rookery. The room was dark, and aside from the few ravens that stirred with his presence, quiet. Creeping across the room, he came to a small table with ink and papers scattered across it. There was a bright green quill along with thin strips of parchment that a raven might carry across the realm. Retrieving a striker, Gerold lit several candles so he might pen a message. Sitting, he dipped the pen and started to scratch down his words, choosing carefully each word in his message. The practice always made him uneasy, he had never trusted words to the wings of a raven, many a head had been lost when a raven was intercepted, and often enough that the birds were killed or lost to some storm before they could deliver their messages.

 _With Jon headed North, I wonder if something should happen to him what Arthur might do._ Gerold pondered.

As soon as the ink had dried, Gerold fixed the letter to one of the bird's legs before setting it to the wind. A thin smirk crossed his lips as he turned from the balcony of the Rookery, intending to return to his chambers, but stopped in his tracks when a figure came into the dim candlelight. Before him stood a man dressed in black leather from head to toe, his face concealed by a hood. The Darkstar on instinct drew the dagger on his belt, eyeing the shrouded man before him and assessing the man. The hooded figure didn't move, just stood there, still as stone with his arms folded at his waist before he made a slow and deliberate movement to remove his hood. As the man drew back the dark cloth, Gerold pointed his dagger at him, ready to butcher the man if the man should be stupid enough to make a move toward him.

When the man had removed his hood, it revealed a pale and hairless head, along with distinct and effeminate features that shone in the dim light of the few still burning candles. He was a plump looking man that seemed to have a sense of smugness about him that filled the air. Gerold thought it might be wiser to gut him before the man could speak, but he thought better of it. This man was here for a reason, best to know his intent.

"Ser Gerold," The man said in a strangely feminine voice that made Gerold think him queerer for it. "It is long since time we've spoken."

"Is it now?" Gerold frowned. "Who am I addressing, I might ask?"

"If I tell you who I am, do you give me your word you'll refrain from gutting me like a wild animal before I've finished speaking?" The man asked, his eyes traveling to the knife pointed in his direction.

"I give you my word that I won't cut you down, not until you've had your say at least," Gerold promised, sheathing the dagger. "But if you give me a reason, I will kill you."

"Excellent." The man smirked, his wet rosy lips shining as a look of glee crossed his face. "My name is Varys, doubtless you've heard of me. I've come to you with a proposal for you Ser Gerold." Said the Spider.

Gerold narrowed his eyes. "I'm listening."

* * *

 **A/N:**

I'm going back and doing a lot of edits in past chapters to improve the overall quality of the story. I updated Chapter One to its "final" version, removing most of the grammar and spelling mistakes I there.

Also, my I'm sorry for being gone for so long and only being able to offer this quick chapter up. I've gotten the storyboard for the next several chapters completed and will post them here soon. This next part of the story brings us to the events of AGOT, this also marks the end of any major time jumps as the real meat of the story I want to tell is here (following Jon training and strolling around Highgarden for two years would be dull).

The next chapter will focus on Jon and his trip to White Harbor, it will be much longer and have a few fun surprises in store. After that, we will pick up at Winterfell. I thank you all for your patience.

-AA


	17. Chapter 17

**DISCLAIMER**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire, along with all its content and characters, is property of George R.R. Martin and licensed by HBO. Please support the original material.**

* * *

 **Jon IV**

There was a dark haze as Jon gazed out into a blizzard, where drifts of snow were rising like mountains. The wind billowed and cut through him, it was as if the snowstorm was grinding cold steel against his skin. Staggering forward, Jon had to shield his eyes from the blistering winds, his eyes stinging from the icy air. It was a wonder how he was able to survive the freezing winds, let alone the deep snow that threatened to bury him alive. His eyes squinted, Jon peered out into the blackness of the night, or at least he thought it to be night, it might have just been the storm that had blackened the earth for all he knew.

In the distance, Jon could make out the faintest outline of something other than the snow drifts in the distance. Trudging through the snow toward it, Jon felt his legs grow painfully stiff as the snow was up to his waist and every foot he traveled became more and more labored. Cursing, the prince looked up to see what it was he was moving toward. Shielding his eyes once more, Jon could now make out the shape of a tree. It was a large burnt and ugly thing with twisted and deformed branches covered in ice and snow, it's burnt black wood contrasting the thick white drifts against its base.

Disappointed, Jon started to look around, shifting his weight until he felt the snow underfoot start to give way. Jon had only looked down when the snow had fully given into his weight and collapsed him into a cavity below. Letting out a cry, Jon fell, sliding on dirt, rock, and ice until he landed hard on his side. He was surprised at the pain but quickly managed to pull himself up. Jon's breath felt labored as the cold air was beginning to affect his breathing.

The cavern was a void of shadow that had swallowed Jon whole. Rising, Jon felt out into the dark, before his fingers found a wall. Searching its smooth surface, Jon felt what seemed like a handle. Puzzled, the prince pushed it forward and a flood of light streamed from the portal. Shielding his eyes from the brightness, Jon had only time to adjust to the harshness of the light before he found himself in a vast chamber. The room was grand with pillars held up what remained of a once mighty ceiling. Jon noticed that the snows had vanished and instead from the sky fell ashes, the smell of burnt flesh filling the air. Venturing into the center of the room Jon gazed upon a twisted and mangled chair that dominated his attention. It was a twisted and ugly thing of forged out of swords which had been formed into a great throne built for a conqueror. Jon took a step toward it, his hand outstretched toward his birthright, but he stopped when he noticed the bodies that were littered around it. Dead men and women seemed to have been attempting to climb the steps to the throne but had impaled themselves upon many swords, their hands still clawing at the seat atop the mass where a skeleton sat, with a tarnished gold crown adorn on its head.

Jon felt sick as he staggered back. He'd only taken a few steps before the eyes of the dead flicked open, blue and cold spheres glaring at him. Jon turned to run, but a hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Before him, he saw another pair of blue eyes cutting into him as a cold blade pierced his heart. Letting out a yell, Jon could feel his body freezing as his blood turn to ice.

Jolting up, Jon found himself to be slick with sweat. He was still in his cot, the ocean rocking him back and forth in the air. Jon felt cold as a shiver ran through him. Getting out of his cot, Jon found his clothes in the dark. Dressed in his shirt and boiled leather he slipped on his boots. Strapping his sword to his belt, Jon felt more complete, as if the weight at his side could protect him from the phantoms of his nightmares, though he wished the steel were that of Blackfyre. He could still recall the first time he'd suffered these nightmares at Starfall several years ago. Since then he'd been having them in short bursts, the longest he'd gone without them had been two weeks. Sometimes he had the same dreams, sometimes he'd see a something new. Each was dark and foreboding, Jon could feel them start to weigh on his mind, but none of them ever seemed to have any meaning that he could see.

Jon fumbled in the dark until he found his way out of his quarters to the thin hall of the ship. He'd been grateful to have his own room, small as it was. Heading up to the deck, Jon found that it was early dusk, yet it was a dark morning as Jon could see the flashes of lightning from a nearby storm. The seas were choppy, but the wind was to their back as they cut through the water. Passing by a sailor, Jon found the captain at the head of the ship.

When Jon had met Damon Redwine, Jon had thought him to be overly melancholy, however, the man's life had done him no favors in that respect. He was a distant cousin of the main branch of House Redwine and the fourth son of his late father. He had seen his wife die with child and his only son taken by some ugly sickness. He had nothing but the sea and his years, and his hair showed it, thin and gray as it was. His face and skin were limp and wet from decades of seawater battering it. A layer of salt filled the cracks and folds of his features, though it seemed Damon did not appear to care enough to clean it away. As dark as he seemed, he was efficient at his job, he had long seen the signs of the storm that raged along the coast and steered their ships away from the shoreline out into the open water far away from Shipbreaker Bay.

"The air is fowl this morning," Damon declared as he ran his hand through his tangled white beard. "I don't like it."

Jon looked around and saw the two other ships with their convoy. Each carried half of the grain for the Starks, while he stood on the war galley that was escorting them. In the distance, Jon could see another two ships flying a purple flag dotted with yellow spots. "Who is that?" Jon pointed in the direction of the standard.

"Ships from Dorne. They are of House Lemonwood. I'd recognize those yellow lemons from a mile away. They got out away from the storm same as us. Not sure where they are headed, but they shouldn't be any trouble."

Jon watched as the storm rolled along in the distance, lighting bolts flashing as if to affirm the namesake of the Stormlands. "How close are we to Storm's End?" Jon asked.

Damon shrugged. "A few hundred miles. We would need to sail into Shipwrecker Bay to get close to the castle. A foolish prospect during a storm."

Jon had heard the stories of the bay, it was a graveyard for ships. He couldn't imagine the treasures that were lost there. He had heard tales from men in Highgarden of mermaids and monsters that controlled the deep, tales of magic and horror of the sea. "It's that cursed drought god those Greyjoy fuckers' worship," one man had declared. "If any stories of the deep ones by those crazed after shipwreck are true… gods be good."

Jon had believed none of it. Men died not from monsters or deep ones, but from storms and stupidity. Another crack of lightning flashed in the distance as Jon looked for the sunrise. "It'll be a dark day Flowers, that storm is vast and traveling parallel to us. The sky won't clear until the gods have deemed it be cleared, that might not be until we pass by Dragonstone."

"I wish we could stop at the island." Jon lamented. He'd wanted to see the place where his family's dynasty had first taken root in Westeros, it would have made it a pilgrimage to the home of both halves of his blood. Though he would have to settle for Winterfell. He hoped it wasn't as he'd dreamt it, a frozen hellscape, the blue eyes of his nightmares still lingered in the back of his mind, though he forced himself to better thoughts.

"No, no. We cannot make such a stop and hope to be in White Harbor on time. We have enough supplies to make it the rest of the way up the coast and this bloody storm has forced us far enough off course as is." Damon declared as he lifted a wineskin fixed around his belt to his lips and took a deep swig of crimson wine. It was a small luxury his family provided him, the famed wine of the Arbor. Jon liked wine, but mead had always been more to his liking than the sweetness of summer wines.

Strolling over to the railing Jon looked out away from the Storm to the east. He knew that Essos was beyond the haze of the horizon. He had lived there for years, it was more familiar to him than Westeros, its customs ingrained in his bones. If he had not been raised by Arthur and a Maester of the land he now called home it would have been as foreign to him as it had been to Aegon and his sister wives. It had been ages since he had spoken in High Valyrian, he missed the feeling of the language on his lips. He had then thought of Agartha. It was sad, but he'd forgotten what he looked like, his friend had become a ghost of a memory. In truth, he could remember the face of his uncle more clearly. The choice to let him live had weighed on him, as had the choice to attack the man. The more he thought about it, the more the decision haunted him. He wondered if it might have been his undoing. Arthur had never truly talked with him about what had happened after he'd maimed his Uncle, he felt unsure of just how far reaching that choice might reach.

"Captain, there's somethin' out there!" Jon turned to the voice of the lookout.

"What is it?" Damon demanded as he marched down the steps to the lower deck. The man pointed out east. Jon looked to where the man's fingers pointed and could just faintly make out several shadows in the distance that were beginning to grow larger by the moment. Jon saw Damon shout for a man to bring him a looking glass as he stomped up the stairs next to Jon.

"Ships?" Jon asked.

"Three of them," Damon confirmed. "You can see the largest one without the glass."

Jon looked back out at the object, it appeared to only be a dark smudge against the gray sky. It was lucky it was coming from Essos or else they would never have noticed it against the black storm clouds that hung over the western waters. It didn't take long for a man to appear with a brass looking glass that Damon snatched from the man's grasp. Pulling it up to his eye the man peered out at the ship, standing still for some time. He seemed to be mutter into himself, he stood there for a long moment before slowly lowering the glass from his eye. Jon saw his face run paler, his expression grim as he slowly handed the brass tube back to the sailor.

"Smead, wake the men, get them all to their stations. I want you to signal the other ships to do the same." He commanded, his blustering voice quiet as a grim feeling seemed to peel off him.

"Captain?" The man asked, he seemed shaken by the tone of his commander.

"Do as you are told!" Redwine snapped. The man stiffened before nodding and running below deck yelling for the men to get up. Jon felt uneasy as he eyed Damon Redwine up and down. The man seemed defeated, it made Jon's blood run cold.

"What is it? What did you see?" Jon asked he felt his chest grow tight as fear started to seep into him.

"Crow's Eye." Damon declared in a grim whisper. The words seemed to linger in the air as Jon watched as the captain took hold of his wineskin and tilted it back until he'd sucked every drop from it. His eyes looked terrified. "I'd heard stories but…"

"What is the Crow's Eye?" Jon asked.

"Who." Damon corrected. "He is a pirate, a Greyjoy."

"House Greyjoy bent the knee after Robert took Pyke," Jon argued.

"Not this one." Damon laughed, Jon thought he'd gone mad the way he chuckled to himself. "This one was tossed out, he's bent the knee to no man. Euron Greyjoy, he captains the Silence."

"I've never heard of him."

"Men don't like to talk about him. He's a monster, men know of him and the few who speak of him talk like he's some form of monster in human skin. He's feared among sailors, but mostly in the east." Damon walked over to the railing and gripped it tight as he looked out toward the approaching ship.

"How can you tell it's him? Shouldn't he be in the east according to your stories?" Jon asked.

Damon looked out at the sea for a long moment before he answered. "It's dark, and I looked for a long time. I wanted to think I was wrong, but the ship flies a black sail, but it's the figurehead that told me all I needed to know. The mouthless maiden… she's as quiet as her crew." Jon felt panicked at first but pulled his nerves together. He would not turn craven to the tales of a sailor. "May the gods be good." He prayed.

"This is a war galley of House Redwine, surely we can defend ourselves," Jon argued.

"Were you not listening, boy?" Damon shouted. "There's nothing to be done for it!"

Jon looked out toward the storm and saw the two ships of House Lemonwood. He looked back to the two ships that they had trailing behind. "There are three ships you said?" Redwine nodded. "We sacrifice the ships of House Lemonwood. Force them into the path of the enemy."

"You would condemn those men to die?" The captain asked.

"My task is to get the grain of the Reach to House Stark. They will have to fend for themselves." Jon felt his stomach roll as he thought of the men he'd be committing to death. "They have three ships, hopefully, they will plunder those ships and leave us. If the worst comes and one breaks off for us we ram it hard and send the others ahead of us."

"What if it's the Silence that gives chase?"

"Then we pray the gods to favor us." Jon declared. "I won't quiver in the face of any man."

Damon frowned, but he walked over to his first mate and relayed several orders to the man. Soon flags where being signaled to the other two Redwine ships. Damon took the wheel of the and turned the ship toward the storm. Jon watched as they sailed closer to the roaring force of nature, putting themselves in behind the Lemonwood ships which they offered to the oncoming pirates. He felt tense as he watched the horizon closely as the two smaller ships came into view. Jon felt his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his hand ready to cut down anyone who faced him.

It seemed the two Lemonwood ships had noticed the Silence as well, as they had attempted to gain speed. Jon watched as they tried to get further from the pirates than their own boats, Jon realized they were being pressed between both the bay and the pirates. He decided it would be a question of who would risk the waves or the ships. Jon thought the waves to be safer, but if they both decided to risk the storm, how many of them would survive it?

Time seemed quickly the first of the black sails attacked. Jon watched as black streaks crossed the sky as the Lemon Wood Ships attempted to fend off their attackers. Jon could only watch as the lead ship of was rammed. The sound of fighting started to ring out as the Lemonwood ships where being taken apart by the Silence and an accompanying ship. The third raider of the party started to sail toward his own ship.

"They have more speed than the escorts," Jon noted. "We have to protect those ships!" The prince shouted at Damon pointing to the dark ship that was closing in on them.

"They will try to draw us back to the rest of their friends. We'd have to turn around!" Damon retorted. "If we turn around we die!"

Jon felt a tinge of fear creep upon him. The thought crossed his mind that it was foolish to risk his life. Should he die, so would the cause of his family. The fate of House Targaryen would fall into the hands of his mad uncle. The thought gave him pause, but a sense of duty to his honor came from deep within him. "That is our duty, Captain. Or are you too craven to face some pirates?"

Damon narrowed his eyes. He looked like he wanted to spit down on Jon, perhaps he was thinking about how best to deal with him. Jon doubted the man thought he knew best, and indeed he might have, but Jon had long since decided to stand his ground. He was to be king one day, he needed to learn to stand for himself before a crown weighted him down.

"If you want to condemn us to death then so be it. Mace Tyrell put a bastard boy in charge, who am I to say no." The man narrowed his eyes. "Or perhaps in the commotion he lost his senses and fell over the railing. Oh, how he tried to swim before the current of the storm dragged him to his grave." Damon made called out and motioned to Jon. At his behest, two men pulled blades, and another man grabbed a fish hook as he lingered behind the bolder men.

Jon quickly reached to his hip and drew his sword as the two men came at him. Jon was quick to sidestep one and parry the other. They were clumsy and Jon Quickly went on the assault. The first man was fool enough to lift his sword over his head, telegraphing his swing, the move left his belly exposed, and Jon sliced his gut open. Jon watched almost shocked as his guts spilled out. It was the first time since he'd fought his uncle that he'd spilled blood. He didn't linger on the thought long, as the other man charged him. Jon didn't even have to think about his move as he dodged a swipe at his leg before his blade opened the man's throat. He seemed to gag, his green eyes met Jon as a pool of blood flooded from his neck. The man fell. Jon was faintly aware as two more men looked at him, they seemed uncertain.

"Would you die for him?" Jon pointed to Damon Redwine.

"They would live for me. He'll kill us all." Damon declared.

"Yet you send them to die for you? You won't fight me yourself." Jon motioned to the dead men at his feet. "You truly are craven."

The captain took that poorly. Drawing his own blade, he started at Jon. He swung, he was better than the others, but he was still vastly outclassed. They dueled for a moment, but Jon faked a move for his head and when the captain moved to block Jon quickly put his sword through the man's belly instead. Jon looked him in the eyes as shock came over him. Jon thought he might speak, but he only choked down on death. Jon pulled his sword from the man and watched him fall to the side, his eyes lifeless. It then struck him that he had never taken a life before, and now three corpses laid at his feet. It was shocking just how easy it had been, how quickly they had all died.

Jon didn't linger on the dead, he felt quite shocked at how easily he was able to move on from the heinous act, but there was no time to reflect on what was done. "Someone cast these dead traitors overboard," Jon commanded before turning to the pale looking second mate. "Turn the ship toward our pursuer, we're drawing them from the grain ships."

There was a scramble, men moved upon his order, wither out of duty or fear he didn't know, nor did he care at the moment. Looking over the ramparts, he saw the distance the ship had gained on their transports, as the ships where exchanging bolts between the two. Jon watched as their course changed. They turn to allow themselves to drift closer to the pirate ship. The black sailors seemed to take note of the change and moved away from the ship they were assailing to deal with their new threat in Jon's war galley. Jon could tell that they would be in battle soon.

"Do we have the speed to ram them?" Jon asked the second mate, the man seemed pale, still shaken by the death of his captain.

"Y-yes, we should catch them if we move quickly."

Jon nodded. "Do it, then we need to try and break off as quickly as possible, I don't want to become an offering to the winner of the other battle."

"I understand." The man relayed.

They moved quickly, orders where being shouted left and right, but Jon kept his sword clenched in his hand, he hadn't even cleaned the blood from the blade, and he still worried about someone trying to gut him in the name of their lost captain, he felt he would find it hard to sleep for the remainder of their journey, should they not be lost here that was.

Jon watched intently as they moved past the trade galleys and barreled at the dark sails of their fiendish attacker. Jon heard the shout to brace as they came in at the port side of the pirate ship, they had been trying to move out of the way, but the wind seemed to give them no speed in evading the ram of their ship. When the two ships collided, Jon was launched forward, he'd braced against a railing but found himself on the deck of the ship as the sound of wood breaking ripped through the dim morning light. Getting to his feet Jon could see many others doing the same. His eyes traveled to the black ship they had struck where men were moving in a panic. They seemed to be grabbing everything they could get their hands on to fight with, swords, knives, hooks, spears, anything, and everything to use as a weapon.

"We must have breached their hull." The first mate declared.

"They'll sink, but before that, they might try to take our ship," Jon noted quietly to himself. "Pull us away as quickly as you can!" Jon shouted.

Men started working to unbind the two ships, they were locked together it seemed. Jon saw oars come from the lower deck as they tried to paddle out from the enemy ship. That's when board where laid from the pirate's ship onto their own. Men were trying to escape onto their ship and others were attempting to swing from ropes onto the deck, though many landed in the dark waters. Gripping his sword tightly, Jon rushed forward to meet the scoundrels. Shouting for men to fight, Jon rushed into battle.

He had cut down two men before anyone had even taken a swing at him. Jon felt his vision blur, as all his focus was on the battle. Sounds seemed to blend together, and everything seemed a haze as his blade moved like a flash in the black morning. He was vaguely aware of all the death he was bringing. Men fell before him like water upon a rock, but they just seemed to be pouring in a steady stream from the pirate ship. Jon quickly lost count of how many he slew, last he knew it was six men. There was fighting taking over the ship, but they fought off the men, and soon enough they had broken from the ship and Jon watched as the last of the men fell before him. Everything seemed quiet, Jon herd nothing, felt nothing as he looked upon the bodies around him. They seemed to all blur together. Jon couldn't tell one from another. He had never killed before this moment, but now he had taken ten, perhaps more, to their grave. Yet, he felt nothing, no remorse for their deaths. They were not good men, and they had all tried to kill him in one way or another. Jon wondered if Damon Redwine's death even mattered to him. He supposed he would only be one of many bodies Jon would carry with him over his life. Jon almost wished he cared about it, but truthfully, he didn't.

Looking over the edge of the railing, Jon could see the last of the pirate galley being taken under, but aside from the few grown of the injured on deck, there were no screams of those in the water. It was an unnerving silence.

"Get us away from here," Jon commanded.

Looking back, he could see the Lemonwood ships burning on the water. Jon wanted to be away from the black sails. "We've been drifting too close to the storm." The first mate shouted from the rear of the ship. "It's going to be upon us, we can't outrun those clouds."

"Aye, we were well enough off, but it seems the storm is moving quicker than expected. It would seem that our skirmish was enough for it to catch us."

Jon looked out over the sea to see a bolt of lightning crash down over the water. He felt a gust of wind blast over him. He felt his bones rattle, a dark feeling washed over him. It was strange, but he felt the storm was not altogether natural in its nature, darker perhaps. "We'll weather it," Jon said to himself. "Get the wounded down below, and the dead over the side."

"What of the injured pirates?" One sailor asked.

"They go with the dead," Jon stated coldly. "We've no reason to waste time or energy on them. So, send them with their shipmates to the sea." Men moved quickly as Jon turned and looked toward the other raid. Jon felt sick at the thought of taking on two ships, though it was better than three.

Everything moved quickly, Jon stood alongside the first mate, or perhaps the captain now that Damon was gone, and braced as the waves began to batter them. Most men had gone below deck, though the few more experienced and braver men stayed a top to keep the ship steady. Jon could only yell and watch as they fought the storm. Lighting cracked all around as Jon and the others pressed on, their ship tossed like a leaf in the wind. Jon considered it a blessing that the waves had not ripped the galley apart.

Every so often when Jon would see a flash of lighting he might have sworn the Silence was stalking them in the storm. It was madness, and Jon could feel the rain beating down on him, he felt his very bones where soaking, and the wind made the rain sting against his skin.

They went on like this for hours, moving through, until at last, they had come out on the other side. When at last the storm had passed the sun was low, it was dawn now. Jon stood at the rear of the ship and looked out on the men below. They seemed to have barely lasted, tired looks lingered on every mans brow. Jon later learned that six men had fallen overboard in the storm and another five had died in the fighting or succumbed to their wounds. For the first time that day, Jon felt something for the dead, for the men who had served loyally enough and died for it. For them he felt the weight of death, he felt it from the moment the storm cleared until they arrived at White Harbor two days later.


End file.
